Hannibal's Fist - A Tragedy
by MajorBachman
Summary: "Would she see through the bars of his plight and ache for him?"
1. Chapter 1

****Hello, my dearest Hannifans!

Yes, it's been a while since I last published anything but I think most of you will know I haven't been absent.

I'd like to thank Duffie83 for her involvement: you're the best! Thank you for your work as a beta and beyond.

I think I'll manage an update per two weeks, but don't hold this against me if I don't make it...

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: This is a fanfic. I own none of the characters, etc., am not making any money with it, yada, yada, yada...

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Hannibal sat on the bolted straight chair, motionless, as far as his body was concerned. His mind was at work - as always. He sometimes mused his mind had a mind of its own, so to say, and an elated mindset would follow that thought as he dismissed it as faulty. His thoughts never strayed off without his knowing. They were free to roam but were always under strict surveillance.

In the distance Hannibal heard something - movement in the surveillance booth at the end of the corridor. Then came an intrusive red light and noise indicating the double glass doors were about to open, alerting the guards and waking sleeping inmates. Hannibal quickly checked upon the others, listening to their shouts and movements. Perhaps one expected a visitor. Any deviation from the daily routine inevitably disturbed the wretched souls that held domicile in this block and created opportunities for Hannibal. Unfortunately, his survey rendered nothing useful. Nobody was expecting any visitors. And as the unknown person entered the block, Hannibal heard the squealing of the janitor's cart's wheels. The man was one and a half hours early today.

Hannibal had finished all the books on the shelf six days ago. Ten books in three days, and he'd read slowly. He was now mulling over their contents, brooding upon the few points of interest they'd contained. It appeared science was experiencing either a lack of inspiration or great minds these days. The books had hardly interested him, let alone fascinated, but he'd had to make do. The number of books he was allowed to have in his cell had been reduced severely since his failed escape four years ago in Memphis. Wagner, the new administrator of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, had slowly increased that number over the years as he saw no threat in Lecter reading a book or two more if that kept him satisfied and calm.

Five more days before his new books would arrive.

The smell of cleaning chemicals slowly permeated Hannibal's cell, even though the janitor was still three cells away. The man's regular visits allowed Hannibal to test his senses. He could hear the man, smell him and his cart, see him. While he focused on everything that happened, he sharpened his skills and probed for anomalies that could benefit him. He mused about taste, but not how the janitor might thus please him. Hannibal had spoken with him a few times in the past, when he'd still been one of the prisoners. He chuckled, thinking how he'd managed to have the man released and had suggested to him to apply for the job as janitor. Who knew, the man might be of service one day.

With his uncanny patience, Hannibal could play possum for a long, long time indeed. He'd been in here eight years before Memphis, four since. He admitted to himself he tired of waiting, of idling. His attempt at escape had been based upon the Tennessee State Police being accustomed to handling criminals. After the incident the Hospital's security measures had been examined and declared adequate, the only addition being the prohibition of ever moving Hannibal beyond the corridor of his cell. As a result the closet facing his cell had been modified into a shower. Chilton, who in his malignant narcissism had allowed Hannibal to be moved elsewhere, had been transferred to another, less sensitive facility where he now held his little fiefdom. It had returned Hannibal to the arduous position of waiting for a change in protocol as promising as Chilton's singularity, knowing chances were slimmer than before.

His patience was wearing thin, true. Yet, it was not the languid waiting that slowly nibbled it away. It was the lack of stimulation. Indeed, Hannibal would be the last to say his memories weren't up to the task of entertaining him and even the meager number of books he was allowed provided him enough mental exercise. But none of this was a _challenge_. His memories were well trodden paths, the books hardly an effort. Hannibal's life was becoming _boring_.

Again, the light and sound announced the arrival of a visitor. Hannibal heard the glass doors open again and soon recognized the voice of Dr. Wagner, probably asking the guards how they were doing. The man unfortunately had a number of recurring themes in his conversations that could drive anybody insane after a year or so. His collection of opening lines and farewells were limited to respectively five and four. Hannibal knew them by heart now. He listened to the man perform his trick, asking about their families and acting surprised to hear how old the kids already were. Hannibal knew Dr. Wagner would be coming down the corridor in about thirty seconds.

After years of study both at institutions and at home in several fields of science - medicine, law, psychology, physics and a few more - Hannibal Lecter, M.D., S.J.D., Ph.D. and so forth, was _bored_ and the sensation went beyond knowledge or its acquirement. Nothing he read could captivate him anymore. He experienced a vanity of sciences and often did he ponder upon the words, "And here, poor fool! with all my lore / I stand, no wiser than before." Hannibal's knowledge and experience was unprecedented, yet it served him nothing at this moment.

It was with an aching heart that he recounted a line from one of his conversations with Clarice.

_"What I want is a view. I want a window where I can see a tree, or even water."_

Of course he hadn't meant it back then. All he'd tried to achieve was a change of surroundings, since that would offer him a chance of escape. Now, he'd even settle for what he'd said he wanted. He wanted to see _life_ and, if possible, with that _live__again_ himself.

To Hannibal's surprise – though it never showed – Dr. Wagner did not stop at any of the other people down the corridor, but came to his cell at once. He heard the man stop in front of his cell and could tell today was not a very humid day from the administrator's lack of serious respiratory problems. The man's breathing did not go beyond the regular strained sound for such a walk. Hannibal turned towards the man.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal nodded.

"Dr. Wagner."

"I received a request by Dr. Vermittler. He'd like to make his acquaintance and discuss..."

"His article in the Philosophical Gourmet?"

A slight hesitation preceded Dr. Wagner's reply.

"Yes. The Philosophical Gourmet."

Another slight hesitation followed.

"Doctor, what may I tell him?"

"You may tell him I will see him."

"I will. Thank you, Dr. Lecter."

Hannibal waited a moment or two before he nodded. Dr. Wagner nodded in reply, released the breath he was holding, then left.

It was only a small step to Hannibal's memory of his first encounter with Clarice. He relived the little scene rarely since it contained a momentary lapse of reason. Such moments were both rare and among his most precious. He admitted he couldn't quite handle to recount such moments too often. Today felt like a good time, though.

After that, he reviewed his most recent information on Clarice. Media coverage of FBI Special Agent Clarice Margarete Starling had been abundant the first year after the rescue of Catherine Martin, after that it had slowly dwindled. He learned she got her precious position at Behavioral Science two years ago, nothing much since. Curiosity was a luxury he could hardly afford since his incarceration, he indulged himself this one - how was Clarice faring?


	2. Chapter 2

_First of all: a big thanks to all readers and reviewers! I like to write (ars gratia artis) but getting response sure is a nice reward!_

_Kate: Thanks for your review. Too bad it was anonymous so I couldn't reply directly. On the other hand, I think your questions might live with others as well so a reply here where everybody can read it maight not be that bad... Thanks for the compliment on my style and that you found the chapter well written. Always nice to hear what I wrote was pleasing. In reply to your second point: if this chapter's about Hannibal being bored, I don't see how I could combine that with a thrilling chapter. That's part of the/my style. It's matching words with sentences with paragraphs with chapters with plot (IMHO)._

_Continuing on that thought, for everybody's eyes: perhaps I should give a fair warning to everybody. I do not have the intention of writing a 'regular' fanfic with a cliffhanger each chapter and a lot of action in each chapter. I write what I feel necessary to the chapter within the story. As with my previous fanfic "Ten, nine, ...", I've been inspired to write this fanfic by an existing work of literature (if anybody has an idea what book that was, please PM me), and perhaps I'm following the rules of literature more than the rules of online fanfic. I'm sorry if that's not your cup of tea._

_Having said that, here's chapter two. I'll try to update as regularly as possible, but writing takes time for me. I am ahead a chapter or three, but I like to avoid running out of material. So I'll post a chapter when I finish a chapter._

_Enjoy!_

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**Chapter 2**

"That you, Starling?"

"Yes sir!" Clarice called, "I'll be there in a mo'."

Crawford smiled. Clarice had a gift for being there on time, but attracting someone's attention and being held up. It didn't matter much, their jobs didn't involve much nine to five mentality. It was in fact, while being permeated with facts and figures, the thinking outside the box and going for the unexpected that made their jobs. They didn't interpolate to fit things in, they extrapolated beyond the known. They had to imagine, to know in advance.

Even after all these years with the FBI, Crawford knew only two people who'd shown that gift to go beyond. Three, actually, but Crawford did not wish to give that particular man too much thought.

Clarice walked in, smiling.

"Mornin', sir."

"Blumenthal?"

"Nope, Ramsay."

"Ramsay? So Blumenthal is out. Too bad, I thought he might be helpful in the Cook case."

"Want me to call him?"

"No, we'll do that case later. We need to do Briggs now, before your big one tomorrow. You've seen my comments?"

Clarice nodded.

"Good. Let's see… When and how did you find out her daughter was involved?"

Clarice closed her eyes and dropped her head slightly. Crawford had watched her do that before, it wasn't hard to imagine why she did it.

"Two days after we arrested Katharine's friend Carl," she said after a moment. She didn't lift her head, nor did she open her eyes yet.

Crawford didn't talk to her, and waited instead. He saw her open her eyes after a while and raise her head. She wore her hair loose today.

"Wednesday 8th. I was checking her credit card and came across a payment on a date I knew. So I checked. She told me about some minor surgery she'd had the first time she was in here. The time stamp told me someone else had used her card. It didn't take long to find out it had been Isabel."

Crawford nodded. It confirmed what Ramsay had told him back then.

"Okay. I'll add that to the case file. We don't want another The People vs. Lucas."

Clarice looked him in the eyes.

"I didn't forget it, Mr. Crawford. Nor did I leave it out on purpose."

"I know, Starling. I meant no offense. I saw it wasn't on file yet and you know it should be."

Clarice nodded. She knew him well enough to know how he'd meant it but still it had hurt like a bee sting. And she knew herself well enough to know she most often took things too seriously. Like still calling him Sir and _Mr._Crawford.

"I know... sir. I'm sorry."

Clarice could feel the slight blush on her face. She was thankful Crawford wasn't looking at her right now.

"It's okay. Now, anything else?"

Clarice focused and gathered her thoughts again. She didn't realize she'd closed her eyes briefly again. If she'd kept them open, she would have found Crawford looking at her with a small smile on his face. Which was a lot for him. He didn't smile much since Bella died.

.

"You ever see anything like that before, Starling?" Oliver asked Clarice as they stepped out of the elevator the next day shortly after noon.

"Hell no! Six bullets and still he kept coming! Never gonna forget that grim reaper look on his face."

"A fucking zombie, that's what he looked like."

"That must be why he came after me, Oliver - they go after brains!"

Clarice laughed and evaded his punch to her shoulder. Oliver hit the air.

"You'll pay for that in the gym tomorrow!"

"We'll see..."

"I'm serious; you'd better prepare to have your ass kicked, Starling. Shall I order some ice, just to be sure?"

"You see the score lately? No? It's five to twelve. I'm better and I suggest you admit and give up before the score gets any more embarrassing. Oh, you can order the ice - you're gonna need it yourself!" called Starling just before she rounded a corner. Oliver made some caveman noises and continued towards his office.

Clarice walked the hallway to her own office. She shut the door behind her and sat down behind the dull desk she'd personalized a bit, more for her colleagues' sake than her own, but still. It wasn't much, but copies of the coverage of her saving of Catherine Martin, some graduation pictures and a few gadgets and toys worked wonders.

As she sat, she sighed and the smile left her face.

_We got him. _

_We got him. _

_He won't kill anyone anymore._

_We got him._

_No more working girls with a smile from ear to ear._

_We got him._

She reassured herself with similar lines until she no longer saw the pictures of his victims before her eyes or heard their silent pleas for justice. Only then did she rise and go for some coffee.

She felt good.

.

Clarice drove home leisurely. Crawford had sent her home early after a concise congratulation, saying she earned the afternoon off.

The ride took her about 50 minutes, as long as normal commuters would need during rush hour. When she reached her row house in Germantown, Maryland and parked, she didn't get out immediately but savored the moment. Dee's marriage had been the catalyst for the acquisition of a house of her own. The moment Dee had told her of her marital plans, Clarice knew she wouldn't want to share the duplex with someone else. She shared too many memorable moments with Dee there. She didn't mind moving. She realized the time had come to move on.

Dee's fiance was from Germantown and when Dee saw the house for sale, she knew it would be perfect for Clarice. And she would have her friend close by.

As Clarice looked at the house, she decided to call Dee. Perhaps they would come over and celebrate with her.

She got out of the car. As she approached her front door, her neighbor George Atzerodt pulled up and honked. Clarice looked up and saw him beckon. She walked over to him.

"You had a delivery today," he said as he exited the car.

"A delivery?"

"Yeah, a small box."

"Strange. I wasn't expecting anything."

"Y'got yourself one anyway. Walk along."

They walked the desire path across his lawn to George's front door, where he searched his pockets for his keys, only to realize he'd left his keys in the car. He went back to his vehicle to get them and opened the front door after returning from the small errand.

"Sorry, Clarice. Doesn't happen that often."

"No worries, George. Happens to people all the time," Clarice answered and smiled. She couldn't count the number of times he'd lost his keys on her hands.

George opened the door and went inside. Clarice followed.

They stood in the living room. George walked over to a cabinet and found the package they'd left in his care. It was a plain box, corrugated board, approximately 8" x 5" x 1 1/2". Nothing on it but Clarice's address and the stamp.

Clarice took the box from George and thanked him for his trouble.

"No problem. We're here to help each other, right?"

"True. Thanks again!" Clarice said and turned.

"Bye!" George called and Clarice lifted her right hand in reply.

At her own place, she put the box on her dining table and went for a shower first.

When she returned, she had picked up a knife from the kitchen and opened the box.

Inside, she found an envelope on top of an old book. She lifted the envelope and saw it was a cooking book, well used. Opening the envelope with her car key, she retrieved the letter from within and unfolded it.

As she read the letter, a frown appeared on her face but was soon followed by a smile.

_Dear Clarice,_

_As you know, Gram passed away some time ago. We finished going through her stuff and I came across her cookbook. I want you to have it. Cooking is one of the most important things you do at home, I hope it'll become one of the things that make your new house feel like home._

_Ardelia Rollins-Mapp_

Clarice smiled at her friend's formal signature. Usually the notes or Christmas cards she received from her would end with a simple 'Dee'. Seeing her best friend's new, full name really drove home Dee's new life, and the next phase in their friendship. Clarice was moved by the gift, knowing the value it held for Dee, and decided to call her friend and invite her over sometime soon. God help them all, she'd even give one of the recipes a try.


	3. Chapter 3

_ Kate: Too lazy to register and log in? Well, I'm not lazy enough not to reply... You asked about Oliver, would Clarice have any interest in him. No, it's a colleague and nothing more, don't worry. Do you really think Clarice would go for a guy like that? I agree _he_ might flirt with _her_. My prime motivator was to make the scene with Clarice in her office alone stronger, so I simply preceded that emotional event with a more physical scene. Yeah, Dee married was a nice twist. Not very original, but rare enough. And it serves a purpose, don't worry.  
And the true meaning of everything and the fact my native tongue isn't English and I have the wish to write as if it is (thanks again to Duffie for being my beloved beta!) makes it impossible for me to write any faster. Oh, I forgot, I also have a job and family :-)  
I wasn't familiar with the expression, no (but I'm not that good at expressions in English, I admit). So if you're not English also, may I ask where you're from then? _

_Anyway, since I finished chapter 5 today, here's chapter three for you all to read.  
_

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**Chapter 3**

Hannibal sat at his table, sketching his own version of Lucas Cranach's Der Auferstandene. He was currently working on the soldiers surrounding the opened grave. He gave them the faces of people nobody knew. They were long dead now. The risen Christ was still in contour only and it appeared Hannibal had done that intentionally.

He registered the vexing indications of a visitor while continuing to sketch. He heard the voices down the hall, Dr. Wagner repeating the security measures and the orderlies locking and unlocking doors. The unfamiliar voice obviously was his visitor. Hannibal could hear Yale in his pronunciation as the two men approached his cell.

Hannibal finished a few lines purposely, only then did he look up.

"Dr. Lecter? A visitor for you."

Hannibal didn't respond in words but took a good look at the visitor instead. His eyes flashed over the man's body, registering everything along the way. Then he rose and looked at the two men. The dead silence that followed made the two men outside the cell nervous. Dr. Vermittler looked at Dr. Wagner with large eyes, trying to find out what was going on and what was expected of him. Dr. Wagner looked at Hannibal a few times but immediately shied away after each glance. His eyes darted everywhere.

Hannibal suspected the man would never learn to make proper introductions. He let his gaze drop and sat down again. He took hold of his crayon and continued to draw.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Vermittler," Dr. Wagner said to the visitor in a gentle tone.

"It's fine, Dr. Wagner."

"Perhaps he'll deign to speak to you later."

"I hope so, I have some very important things to ask him."

Dr. Vermittler hopped from his right to his left leg in the silence that followed. They both looked at Hannibal, who appeared to be fully engrossed in his work.

"What would you like to do now?" Dr. Wagner asked.

"I think I'll wait and see."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I think I'll be fine."

"Okay. If you need anything, don't hesitate to call one of the guards."

With that, Dr. Wagner left Dr. Vermittler, who hopped back to his right leg again.

Hannibal followed the man's actions intensely yet unnoticeable while he continued to sketch.

Dr. Vermittler inspected Hannibal's cell, avoiding the man himself. He suddenly felt the cold, stale air seep through his clothes. He shuddered briefly and closed his eyes for a short moment. When he opened them again, Hannibal had risen and moved two steps towards him. Dr. Vermittler startled and took a step back. He swallowed nervously as he looked at the man in front of him. Hannibal's pose was, strangely enough, quite relaxed and a hint of a smile was on his face.

"Dr. Lecter?" he nearly whispered.

"Yes?"

Dr. Vermittler swallowed again.

"My name is Dr. Vermittler. May I ask you a few questions?"

Hannibal didn't nod his approval but as he looked at Hannibal, Dr. Vermittler didn't feel as if he was being dismissed. Somehow he knew Dr. Lecter meant he was allowed to ask.

He opened his briefcase, took out a thin manila folder and put the briefcase on the floor, its dead weight leaning against his leg. He then retrieved a document from the folder, put it on top and took a pen from the breast pocket of his jacket. He clicked the pen so he could write and looked up again.

Hannibal now became highly alert. He waited until he saw Dr. Vermittler breathe in to speak and spoke at that moment.

"Dr. Wagner's not always as courteous as he ought to be. He should have properly introduced us. I hope you're not too offended by his atrocious behavior."

He registered the surprise and relief in the man's face.  
_This is going to be simple_.

"Erm, I guess he believed he was polite enough."

"Do you really think so? You introduced yourself, so apparently you felt he hadn't."

"Perhaps."

"Perhaps?"

"No, I guess you're right."

Hannibal internally cringed at the frequent use of the verb guess, but he didn't show it. He didn't want to spoil things with this man of cold scientific aspiration.

"Tell me, Dr. Vermittler, am I right when surmising your article in the American Psychologist was abridged without your consent?"

"You noticed?" the man asked with genuine surprise, "Nobody else did!"

"I'd say it was pretty obvious. Your line of thought was impeccable but for two leaps. At those two points, the sentences lacked the refinement of the rest of the article. Ergo, the article had been truncated and I could not imagine you would have agreed."

"Indeed. I wasn't informed and only found out when I received my copy. I will be demanding a rectification," Dr. Vermittler said proudly.

"Of course you would," Hannibal replied. "Now tell me, is that the questionnaire you prepared for me?"

"It's… not a questionnaire, Dr. Lecter. This isn't part of any study. It's only a number of questions that I wished to ask you. The article has led to some discussion and I'd like your opinion on a few things."

Hannibal smiled at the man.

"All right. First question, please?"

Hannibal heard the man pose his question but he didn't answer it immediately.

"May I hear the second question?"

Dr. Vermittler started to read the second question from his paper with his lifeless eyes, but Hannibal shook his head halfway through. Dr. Vermittler noticed and stopped reading.

"Is something wrong, Dr. Lecter?" Dr. Vermittler asked and hopped from his one leg to the other.

"These questions deserve more attention than this. Could you send them through, please? I'll read them myself and write down my answers myself. You can put it in the food tray there," Hannibal said and pointed to his left.

Dr. Vermittler looked to the indicated side and saw the tray.

"Sure, Dr. Lecter."

Dr. Vermittler walked over and put everything in the tray, then stepped back. Hannibal only then approached the tray and pulled it through.

"Ten questions in total? That won't take too long, Dr. Vermittler. I had thought the list would be longer. I'd have you wait at the surveillance booth down the hall, but that won't be necessary. If you'll just please wait?"

"Sure, Dr. Lecter. Thank you."

Hannibal took everything to the table in the middle of his cell and sat down. He tilted the folder slightly as he read.

Dr. Vermittler looked at Hannibal as he processed the questions. Sooner than expected Hannibal rose again and put the folder back in the tray.

"May I ask _you_ a few questions, Dr. Vermittler?"

"Of course, Dr. Lecter."

"Will you tell Dr. Doemling to mind his own fucking business? Did he really think I wouldn't recognize a pawn?"

Dr. Vermittler's face turned ashen and Hannibal could see his knees start to tremble.

_Good..._

"What a petty attempt at revenge! And you let him use you? What are you, his _lover_?"

Hannibal looked the man dead in the eye.

"Rest assured I'll submit a savory article to the next American Psychologist that will ensure your eradication from the established scene. Instant death."

Dr. Vermittler's mouth opened and his eyes bulged, but he didn't speak.

"You're nothing but a lame disciple of a pompous fool," Hannibal continued, "Dr. Doemling cares for his own advancement alone. Do you really think he would have helped you? Has he ever helped anybody? You should have considered better with whom you associate. Go now!"

Dr. Vermittler trembled all over now, but didn't move yet.

"GO!" Hannibal shouted and started towards the net and glass with arms spread and his face contorted with anger. Dr. Vermittler jumped back. His briefcase fell to the ground. He stooped down and quickly picked up the lifeless thing.

Hannibal continued to move and yell at his visitor.

"GO! I'D EAT YOUR BRAINS BUT DOUBT YOU HAVE ANY!"

Dr. Vermittler jumped up and ran down the hall.

As soon as the man was out of sight, he calmed down immediately. The rest of the ward had been alarmed by Hannibal's shouts and their screams urged the man on in his flight.

Hannibal immediately took the metal ink cartridge from the pen Dr. Vermittler had given him and hid it. He quickly flushed the rest of the pen. The orderlies would be there any minute.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Hi, Dee!"

"Hi, Clarice! How are ya girl?"

The two women greeted and embraced each other. Clarice added an extra second, warmed by the memory of years of friendship. Ardelia couldn't remember ever getting such a welcome by her old roommate.

"I'm so happy to see you!" Clarice said as she pulled back to have a good look at Ardelia. "You're looking as happy as on your wedding day. God, you're glowing!"

"Yeah, life's been good," said Ardelia with a shit eatin' grin.

Clarice let go of Ardelia and turned to Ardelia's husband, who stood somewhat helpless with his 5'8" muscular frame in the doorframe.

"Good to see you, Henry," she said and shook his gloved hands.

"Good to see you too, Clarice."

"Shoot - where are my manners. Come on in you two! It's cold outside."

Clarice stepped back and let the two in. She took their coats and hung them on a peg. When she was facing her visitors again, she noticed a sparkle in Dee's eyes. Then she saw Dee's nose twitch and she knew what her friend was thinking. She tried to suppress a smile, but Dee wasn't born yesterday and noticed Clarice's glee. In reply, she rolled her eyes in anticipation. Clarice burst out laughing.

"Aw, you know me too well, Dee!"

"Yep. White Girl never could keep a secret. You been trying one of gram's recipes!"

"Hey, you sent me the cookbook, remember? And since we stopped sharing the duplex I could choose between always ordering in or try some home cooking myself. I think you'll be surprised."

"You'll never cease to amaze me and you know that. You amaze us all the time."

Clarice took in the words and was flattered by the compliment.

"Ah shit, Dee. Thanks. You're pretty amazing yourself, too."

"Yeah, she is," Henry confirmed, "I married the most amazing woman alive on earth."

"And you better know it, mister Smooth Talker!" said Dee and turned to give her husband a grin. He gave her a soft pat on her bottom, pleased yet embarrassed by her words. Clarice resisted rolling her eyes at the lovebirds.

"Hey, cool it, honey. We're not at home."

Henry smiled sheepishly.

"Come, I'll make some hot cocoa to warm up," said Clarice and preceded them into the living room. Once she had her two guests settled on the sofa, Clarice went into the kitchen.

While she waited for the milk to warm, she added a drop of water to the cocoa and sugar she'd put in three mugs earlier to make a smooth paste. As soon as the milk was ready, she filled the mugs and stirred well. She hated lumps in hot cocoa. She carried the mugs and a few Belgian pralines in on a small serving tray.

"Perfect," said Henry as Clarice placed the tray on the coffee table.

"He looks one hundred percent man, but the way he likes chocolate almost makes him a woman," Dee teased.

"Can't help it, baby, I like it and so do you," he said and winked.

"Be a good boy now Henry, or I'll have to punish you later..." Dee retorted.

"Now there's an image I sooo don't want in my head," Clarice said. She seated herself on the easy chair and held the cocoa near her face for warmth while she ate one of the pralines.

"You guys really should try these," she said with her mouth still full, then held her hand to her mouth in apology to Henry.

Adrelia and Henry both took one and tasted.

Clarice had finished hers.

"My neighbor's family sends them. He gave me a box."

"They're magnificent!" Ardelia said, hiding the sweet in one of her cheeks momentarily, "Where does his family live?"

"Germany."

"They're great," agreed Henry once he'd finished his, "and the cocoa smells like my momma used to make."

"Aw, nothing fancy, Henry. Just sugar, cocoa and milk."

Clarice hoped they'd find the rest of the meal as savory. She'd tried real hard to get everything right.

"So how's life? PG13 version please."

The two looked at each other. Clarice thought that little move said everything. A smile was exchanged between the husband and wife, then Dee turned back to Clarice.

"We're happy," she said and smiled, "Simple as that."

Ardelia raised her hand to Henry's neck and gently scratched him there. Were he a cat he'd purr, Clarice thought.

"I'm so glad for you two."

"Thanks," Henry replied.

They sat a while in silence; no speech was needed apparently. Clarice saw a bit of heaven in the couple in front of her and innocent greed washed over her, but it lived only a brief instance.

Ardelia sometimes felt a little ashamed of her happiness. She knew there was a chance Clarice might resent her joy out of jealousy. She was glad Clarice didn't show any such signs and seemed to be truly happy for her.

Ardelia admitted she was relieved by that; it could have been quite different. Leaving the duplex had been a difficult time, she knew the house they found for Clarice a few blocks away from their own had been a good move. She wouldn't lose the proximity of her friend and Clarice wouldn't have to feel abandoned. And her marriage might have resulted in a breach in their friendship as well. She counted herself lucky Clarice seemed to carry no ill feelings and was genuinely pleased for them.

"And how was the honeymoon?" Clarice asked.

"Amazing," Henry answered, "Never knew Hawaii was that magnificent. The moment we exited the plane it was as if we'd landed on Fantasy Island. I almost expected Tattoo to show up take us to Mr. Roarke!"

"De plane! De plane!" Clarice exclaimed.

Henry bellowed with laughter and the two women laughed along.

"We'd have been boring guests," Ardelia said, "at least me. I already had everything I wanted."

She winked at Henry, who didn't notice, but didn't need the hint.

"Me too!" he replied enthusiastically.

"So, what did you do? Don't tell me you just sat with your butts in the sand on the beach for three weeks?"

"What? You think we'd fly to Hawaii for that?" Henry demanded.

"Hell no!" Ardelia chimed in, "You know us better than that! Sure, we spent some time idling around. That must have been the first two or three days. Then we went scuba diving, we drove around the island in our rented Ferrari. You know they rent Ferraris like Magnum's?"

"They do? A 308 GTS? Cool!"

"She didn't even ask if I wanted to drive, she just took the keys and sat herself behind the wheel."

"Damn straight!" Dee exclaimed with passion.

Clarice smiled. "I was in love with Tom Selleck for years," she admitted.

"Yeah, us and a million other girls. What a man!"

The two women looked at each other, then burst out with laughter. Henry smiled at their unfettered euphoria. It was good to see these two women, one whom he loved with all his heart, the other whom he liked as a good friend he could rely on blindly, have their moment of shameless merriment.

When their laughter subsided a bit, Henry spoke again.

"Dee's not a bad driver, she handled the car pretty well."

Ardelia quickly drawled out, "Heeeelllo, FBI," and nudged him in one rib in an attempt to stop him. To no avail, unfortunately for her.

"And they're pretty fast," Henry continued, "Ardelia's lucky she married a rich man..."

"Oh no," Clarice said, "don't tell me..."

"Yeah, she got a ticket for speeding."

"Really, Dee?"

"Ah... well, yeah. Hey, it's a damned Ferrari! What's the use of a three liter V8 if you're not going to use the sonovabitch?" Dee defended herself.

"The best part was the officer suggested I take the wheel..."

"No! Really?" Clarice exclaimed and laughed out loud. And when her eyes caught Dee's still-pissed expression, her merriment was refueled and another bout of laughter followed.

Henry was laughing as much as Clarice and though Ardelia wasn't all too happy Henry had told about 'the incident', she couldn't help but smile too.

"Hey - it was worth it! " she said, "Blue sky, blue ocean, haulin' ass along the coastal highway! Don't tell me you never got a ticket?"

"Sure I have, Dee," Clarice replied, "More than one, actually."

"Yeah, me too," Henry stated.

"There you go. Nothing wrong with me getting a ticket."

"Of course there isn't, baby," Henry said and put his arm around her in affection and support.

Clarice went to the kitchen to check on her soup. She was happy. Her best friend had married a great guy and they lived nearby. She felt alive.


	5. Chapter 5

_All right then, here's the next chapter!  
I'd like to send a big thank you to all who have reviewed, added a 'Follow' or added this fanfic to their Favs - I really appreciate it. You are the oil that makes the wheels of my imagination run smoothly._  
_I wish everybody an enjoyable read now._

* * *

**Chapter 5**

Sitting on his bed, wearing the straightjacket again he hadn't been asked to don for a while now, Hannibal congratulated himself on his accomplishment. The fear he'd imposed on his sorry visitor had successfully masked his true intentions and wearing this specific garment was a dismissible price to pay.

But there was one thing nagging him in spite of his current achievement. Truly, he was one step closer to freedom, one step closer to leaving this facility. And according to the proverb, the longest journey begins with a single step. Still, if one has taken that first step and looks behind, that single step looks futile in comparison to the journey ahead. Hannibal made the mistake of looking behind and the one step he'd taken towards freedom only emphasized his current situation. He was feeling less alive than ever before, down in this dungeon. Wasn't he more than six feet under? Wasn't he _buried_ here, dead to everything that gave life meaning?

.

Weeks went by. Hannibal used the time to turn the ink cartridge into a key. Though Barney had been let go two years after his first attempt at escape due to budget cuts, and all other guards weren't as attentive, Hannibal didn't want to risk anything. Discovery of the key would be fatal. He worked slowly and carefully, but surely. And he kept an open eye for new possibilities.

.

Seeing his own article in the American Psychologist didn't matter for Hannibal. He knew it was a good article, he didn't need the confirmation of its publishing. It had, in fact, been a relatively simple exercise for him, combining what he'd learned from the encounter with Dr. Vermittler, the man's question list and his knowledge of Dr. Doemling. Nevertheless, the two would not be happy with the minor effort he'd put in it.

.

The second link in the chain of events that held promise of a chance to escape - the key was the first - was an incident with another prisoner two cells down the row, shortly after Hannibal had procured the pen. A heavy thud sounded through the night, followed by cries of agony and pain. Half the lights went on immediately and one of the guards came to see what was going on.

Having reached Carl's cell, the guard saw the man had fallen off his bed and was lying on the floor.

"Paul, we got a bleeder! Get the med kit!" the guard yelled to his colleague still in the booth.

Hannibal could smell blood where he lay. He heard the other guard approach his neighbor's cell.

"You keep him at gunpoint, Paul, I'll cuff him to the bed."

"Yeah, Max, hold a sec. ... Okay, I'm ready."

Hannibal heard Bruch and Hindemith enter. Carl was cuffed quickly, then examined.

Apparently the protocol for this kind of incident had altered.

.

"Thank you, Mr. Hindemith" Hannibal said as the guard gently placed half of the new books in the food tray after taking out the old ones.

"You're welcome," the man replied after stepping back.

"I'm sorry to say they could only find nine of the books you ordered. I hope you won't mind I added a tenth book. I read it recently."

"I see. Thank you for telling me," Hannibal replied.

"Is there anything else I can do for you?" he asked when he stepped back.

Paul, who'd become an orderly at the Hospital a few months before Barney left, was thankful the big guy had given him some advice prior to his departure. He'd liked the guy and was sorry to miss him. The job would have been more pleasant with him around; Christoph and John weren't exactly the colleagues he'd hoped for. But getting a job was a challenge if you had only one leg, so he did his best to keep it. Coping with those two retards was an acceptable effort.

"No, I'm fine," Dr. Lecter said. He stepped forward and pulled back the tray. He got out the books and put in the remaining ones. Then he stepped back again.

Paul stepped forward, retrieved the tray and replaced the books. He stepped back again.

Hannibal went for the last batch. When he took out the books, he saw the one Paul had added. The cover had the name 'B. Büch' on it, most probably a German author.

"I… I am sorry if it…" Paul muttered.

"I'm sure, Mr. Hindemith, it will be to my liking," Hannibal interrupted him, "It was very attentive of you to add the book. I'm looking forward to reading it."

The man smiled tentatively before saying goodbye to return the books. Hannibal hoped Paul wouldn't be on duty when his chance of escape emerged.

.

When the next issue of the American Psychologist featured a number of post publication reviews that were in accordance with his expectations, it only meant to Hannibal his strategy had been correct. But he found he didn't really care. He'd enjoyed writing the article more than its actual revengeful aspect.

.

The third link was the overheard conversation a number of days later between Max Bruch and another new guard, who weren't aware such information should not be exchanged with Hannibal within hearing range, in which Max told the other he wished he wasn't on the night shift next Saturday. He had a family and wanted to enjoy Easter Sunday just like everybody else by sleeping in. And he didn't look forward to a night shift with Christoph and John. Hannibal noted duly the night shift for Saturday 22 April would be down to three men instead of the usual five.

.

The pieces of the puzzle were definitely coming together.

.

"Dr. Lecter," Dr. Wagner said in between a few gaps for breath from the exercise when he had reached his famous prisoner's cell, "I'd like to thank… you for your cooperation and effort."

"You're welcome," Hannibal replied amiably while he was thinking about scarification at initiation ceremonies in Papua New Guinea and considered what design would suit Dr. Wagner.

"If you hadn't helped, me and my team would have had to…, ah, maybe I should just say we really appreciate it."

"No trouble at all, Dr. Wagner. The budget cuts aren't helping and I'm sure Mrs. Wagner will be happy to have you home this weekend," Hannibal said, vocalizing what Dr. Wagner had been reluctant to say.

"Yes, she will. And the other staff members are thankful, too."

"I'm sure they are. Wish them all a wonderful Easter weekend from me."

"I will, Dr. Lecter."

"Goodbye, Dr. Wagner."

"Oh, before I forget, Dr. Lecter. I just received a call, I won't be in Tuesday. The little chat I requested with you won't be possible before Wednesday."

"That's okay," said Hannibal, "Tuesday was going to be somewhat impossible for me anyway..."

Hannibal smiled mischievously.

Dr. Wagner looked at his interlocutor piqued by what he'd heard, but when he saw the irony in Dr. Lecter's smile he simply returned the smile.

Hannibal knew Dr. Wagner would relive this Easter the rest of his life, wondering why and regretting the fact he'd missed the underlying truth.

.

The dark dungeon was quiet and the only light visible was the soft glow from the monitors in the surveillance booth. Hannibal's cell, being at the other end, was submerged in a near complete darkness. The TV that had once adorned the booth had been removed by Dr. Wagner after Dr. Chilton's departure for security reasons. Even with the sound muted, it would distract the guards from the job. A radio had been denied for the same reasons. The end result was trouble finding guards for the night shifts. Dr. Wagner had solved that problem the monetary way. It was amazing how much people were willing to do for money. But the budget cuts were becoming rather a nuisance. Dr. Wagner had saved money elsewhere first but cutting the number of guards on holiday weekends had been unwelcome yet unavoidable.

Both guards in the booth heard the heavy thud from down the hall. The new protocol demanded immediate action: investigate the source of the sound; ascertain the safety of all. Christoph Gluck, one of the two guards, turned on half the lights in the hall - enough to see properly, not enough to wake the prisoners - and grabbed a billy club and torch. He left the booth and proceeded down the hall to investigate. He passed each cell, taking his time to find the source of the sound, slowly progressing down the line.

Hannibal lay on the cold floor and could hear Gluck's every move. He'd turned his face the other way to avoid being blinded by the torch. He heard the man's proceedings. Fasch was still in the booth of course, scrutinizing the surveillance monitors.

Christoph hadn't found anything yet, and he was slowly approaching the end of the hall. He reached the next-to-last cell and looked carefully inside, only to find nothing. Slowly, he returned his attention to the hall again, and called to John in the booth.

"John?"

"Yeah?" came the distant voice.

"Nothing so far. I'm goin' for the last cell now."

"Right.'

Slowly, Christoph proceeded. He peered inside as he went, looking for anything suspicious.

"You okay?" called John.

"Yeah, still nothing," he called back. When he'd gone far enough to inspect the whole cell, he saw Hannibal's prone figure on the floor next to the bed. A dark stain was visible on the floor, under Dr. Lecter's head. It appeared to be blood.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Get over here with your gun and med kit - Lecter's on the floor!"

"Shit! Gimme a sec, okay?"

"Okay," Christoph replied. He kept looking at Lecter's body on the floor, watching for anything suspicious. John joined him sooner than he'd expected.

"I'm here."

"Good. Are you ready? Gun loaded?"

"I'm good," John ensured.

"Okay, here we go..."

.

Hannibal's escape wasn't noticed until next morning, when the next shift arrived. They found Christoph, Max and John dead and it looked like they died a long time ago. They found Hannibal's copy of Cranach's Der Auferstandene placed on the center of the table.

Hannibal had rendered his own liking above the opened grave.

* * *

_PS I've got two people that guessed what original work of literature inspired me to write this fanfic. Yay!_


	6. Chapter 6

_The last two weeks have been somewhat busy. I haven't been able to write as much as I would have liked, but I did manage to finish a chapter so here's the next chapter for you to read. Enjoy!_

_MB_

* * *

**Chapter 6**

"Hello?" Clarice said, still sleepy as she'd meant to do some serious sleeping in on this Easter Sunday.

"Starling?" said the voice of Jack Crawford in a tone she didn't often hear in his voice. The combination with the impossible current time sounded an alarm bell in Clarice's mind. She changed from groggy to alert in an instant.

"Yes? Something happen, Mr. Crawford?" she said. A slight shaking in her hand while she held the telephone to her ear.

"Something happened, yes. I want you to get up a.s.a.p. and pack a bag. Be ready, armed and alert and wait for Oliver. I sent him over, along with a few officers. They'll guide you here and look after your house."

Crawford waited briefly to let his words sink in properly before continuing.

"Lecter escaped."

Clarice held the telephone to her ear, staring wide-eyed in amazement.

"I... how?"

"We'll get to that when you're here. Get going, Starling."

"Yes, sir," she replied, the words familiar and coming almost automatically to Crawford's order.

Returning the phone to its cradle, Clarice rose and cleared her mind first.

_Dr. Lecter escaped._

_Damn._

_Crawford wants me over a.s.a.p._

_Yes._

_No shower, just a brush through my hair._

_Get my gun._

_Get dressed and packed._

_Right._

_Be ready to go._

_Go._

She rose in a fluent motion and went over to her bathroom for the bare necessities.

.

With her gun in its shoulder holster, her coat on but opened in front and her bag in her left hand, Clarice stood to the side in her living room, waiting. She could see most of what was happening outside. She'd checked the back door and all windows. While she waited for Oliver, Clarice fought the urge to imagine what had happened at the Baltimore State Hospital, how Hannibal had escaped. She knew it was no use trying to get answers without material to postulate upon, and she needed to be vigil as well. Postulating would only distract.

The officers from Montgomery County PD were, of course, the first to arrive. Clarice could see the car coming to a halt before her door. The two officers exited their vehicle and took a quick survey of the surroundings before one started for her door. The other remained at the car, his head going left and right as he scanned the area continuously.

Clarice went to the front door. The officer outside rang before she'd reached the door. Two more steps. She put the bag on the floor, walked over to the door and opened it with her left hand. Outside stood the officer. Clarice's muscles relaxed slightly.

"Ms. Starling?"

"That's me."

"My name is Troisgros from the Montgomery County PD. We're here to..." the man started, but as he noticed her coat he didn't finish his sentence. Clarice managed a smile.

"I know. Come in."

"Thank you."

Troisgros turned towards his partner and signaled he was going in. Then he stepped forward as Clarice made way for him. His eyes darted here and there.

"I made sure the house is safe and locked all windows and doors."

"Forgive me, Miss, but I had strict orders. I have to check myself."

"Sure," Clarice replied and smiled to herself as the officer continued his search of the house. As she followed him around she admitted he did a good job.

When he went upstairs, Clarice returned to her position in the living room and waited.

.

It took about 25 minutes for Oliver to arrive at Clarice's place. He parked behind the police car and first talked briefly with the officer, who hadn't returned to his vehicle since he'd gotten out. Then he walked over to Clarice's door. She opened shortly after he rang.

"Hey, Starling. Quite a mess, eh?"

"S'pose so," she replied, "Crawford told me zilch. Hannibal escaped?"

"Yeah. Killed three guards in the process. Crawford wants you there. He told me to drive you."

"Sure," Clarice said and stepped back to pick up her bag. She followed Oliver to his car and noticed the second squad car down the road. Oliver saw her notice.

"There are a few more around," he said, "Crawford's orders."

Oliver looked at Starling from his side of the car, over the roof. He couldn't say what Clarice felt at that moment, she was still staring at the other police car. Silence hung between them. Then Clarice turned, returned Oliver's look and got in. Oliver got behind the wheel.

"Crawford's not taking any chances with Lecter," Clarice spoke, "He knows only too well what the man is capable of."

.

"Starling. Good."

"Sir," Clarice replied to Crawford's greeting.

Jack Crawford was standing at the top of the stairs to the dungeon, looking down into the deep. Clarice stepped into place beside him. She could've sworn this was the first time she'd ever seen those stairs well lit and she saw some blood smears on the gray granite steps.

"He killed three guards and ascended these stairs in a spare uniform from the booth. The surveillance tapes registered most of his actions, except the murders and some movement up here. His cell and the booth aren't covered by cameras. You want to see the tapes?"

"I'd rather see things in situ."

"Good. Ready?"

Clarice nodded in reply.

They descended the stairs, carefully avoiding disturbance of the tracks.

"What about the other prisoners?"

"They're still there. Moving them would've disturbed the scene. What do you want to see first?"

"His cell."

Crawford nodded in approval. Will Graham's M.O. came to his mind for a moment as Starling's actions resembled his, but he resolutely pushed the thought away.

"You know the way," he said.

Clarice responded with a nod before taking the lead.

She slowly proceeded, trying to avoid jumping to conclusions from visual information. His cell is where he started and it was where she would start.

Clarice encountered a number of familiar FBI faces along the way.

When she reached his cell, she stopped in from of it, pretty much the same way she'd done the first time she visited. The place wasn't very different from what she remembered. Less books. But more corpses, she added wryly.

One body was near the bed, the other one lay right in front of her, just inside. The second guard's gun was on the floor next to him.

"Did he shoot?" she asked.

"No."

Her eyes went back to the first guard. She noticed the handcuffs fixed to the bed.

"What's with the cuffs?"

"Part of protocol. See that med kit? It's theirs."

"A protocol that says two guards, cuffs and a gun suffices to handle Hannibal?"

Clarice shook her eyes in disbelief.

"Protocol was new," Crawford added.

"When will they _evaluate_ it?" she said with a sneer.

"Okay, a med kit. They came in because they thought Hannibal was hurt?"

"Yes."

Her eyes searched the area around the bed.

"Is that Lecter's blood?"

"Yes."

Clarice stepped inside, carefully avoiding the body near the door. She went over to the bed from the other side. The cuffs were fixed to the bed on one side, the other side was open. Had Hannibal never been cuffed or had he managed to open them? She ducked to have a look under the bed. Nothing there.

"The makeshift key has already been bagged," Crawford said. Clarice lifted her head to look at him.

"What?"

"The makeshift..."

"No, I heard you. I was talking to myself..."

She rose and continued inspecting the scene, slowly progressing from the bed to the door. There she met Crawford again.

"So why did you bring _me _in? Case is clear, I'd say."

"Yes, it is."

"Then why, _Jack_? You know better than to bullshit me."

Clarice was rather pissed Jack had summoned her here. She wouldn't have minded the sleeping in.

"Yes. I could have let you sleep. I could have placed your house under surveillance while you slept. But you'd have been pissed. Now you're pissed too, but at least I know we got the story straight."

Clarice stood before her superior. She knew being pissed didn't help, especially with Crawford. And she suddenly saw it in his eyes - he cared for her. Not the scenario Lecter had teased her with, but a genuine care for her welfare. She relaxed slightly and exhaled slowly.

"You can go home when we're done investigating. I arranged for an audit and upgrade of your alarm system, they're on it right now, and you'll have surveillance 24/7. Unmarked cars. Pros."

Clarice considered and conceded.

"You're right, sir. Let's get on with it."


	7. Chapter 7

_A new year has started - I wish you all a Happy New Year! May it prove to be an excellent one._ _Now, on with the show..._

_MB  
_

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Clarice got used to the surveillance Crawford had insisted upon quickly. In fact, it was surprising to her how easily she accepted it. It probably helped the unmarked cars were difficult to spot. She was a pro herself and she had to admit even she sometimes had trouble indicating which vehicle was posting. She even called a few times to confirm they were still watching her. There was the hint of a feeling Hannibal would not pay her a visit, but she knew it was better to be safe than sorry.

The first days were the worst, but not due to the surveillance. She got calls instead from journalists of various magazines and papers, asking her anything they could think of. Apparently Clarice's erstwhile contact with Dr. Lecter still stirred people. Questions ranged from genuine journalism to the mentally disturbed, but she answered none of them.

And she spotted a few cars following her around those days as well. Following Crawford's instructions, she reported them to the MCPD who had a little chat with the men and occasional women inside, making sure it wasn't Lecter making use of a cover as a journalist to approach her.

Doing her groceries it eased her mind to see only the Tattler featured an article on her. She supposed sales were dramatically down if they needed coverage of her, five years after her meetings with Dr. Lecter, to lift them up again. She doubted it helped and could not care less.

Ardelia visited with her more often than usual to show her support. Clarice appreciated her friend's effort. Ardelia had always been a special friend and her love and support in moments like this, accompanied by her wit and intellect, made it all too clear what special place Ardelia held in her heart. Ardelia was her family as far as she was concerned; all the family she had and needed.

.

Weeks went by. Crawford used the time to think things over carefully. Of course, all standard procedures on prison breaks like this had been followed. Probably every law enforcer in the country was now familiar with Dr. Lecter's case, his escape, his mug shot and strict instructions. Customs had been informed and instructed. Every private firm and company that operated in security had been informed. But Crawford knew that wasn't the problem. It was his job to extrapolate beyond the known, to imagine and to know in advance. Dr. Lecter was most likely familiar with all these measures and precautions and Crawford knew that. He also knew Dr. Lecter was aware he knew. The bastard was as sleek as an eel in a bowl of snot. The first time he'd been caught was sheer luck - the highly improbable combination of an extraordinary investigator and exceptional circumstances. The second time wasn't even a true capture - Hannibal had not made it out of the former Memphis courthouse yet. But this time, Hannibal had found a way and he was out there, somewhere. And Crawford made it his job to find the son of a bitch again.

During those weeks, Crawford worked in close unison with Clarice. He absolutely didn't consider her the same kind of tool as Will Graham - Graham had that uncanny capability Crawford still couldn't quite put to words but he had always needed the right motivation to get going, Clarice added a unique perspective to everything that was the result of her education and immense drive. She held up in comparison. So, strictly speaking he was her superior, but he decided to work with her as a peer this time. He'd given Graham a free hand to catch serial killers, he gave her the same chance now.

So Starling and Crawford joined forces. The goal was to trace Dr. Lecter. Clarice was determined to find that man and she worked her ass off trying. She often found Crawford standing in her doorway bidding her good night as he went home. She knew he had nobody to go home to. _And neither have I_, she admitted to herself, but quickly dispelled that idea as she knew it could always change and sooner than one would think. But Crawford was getting old and he'd been there.

Frustratingly, every plan they conceived, every idea they came up with that might indicate Lecter's recent presence came up blank. There were no unaccountable or strange purchases of high-end goods, no exclusive cars, wine or whatever Hannibal had preferred before his incarceration, that signaled the man might be here or there. Neither did the phone taps on Dr. Lecter's known acquaintances - as far as Starling and Crawford were allowed to tap - reveal anything on the man's whereabouts. It was as if the man had ceased to exist. The bitter thought came to Clarice's mind that, even though she'd never seen him again after Memphis, Dr. Lecter had been more present while imprisoned than now. There wasn't even the tiniest clue where the man could be right now. Clarice had a private joke: Dr. Lecter was a true cosmopolite now...

.

"Starling?"

"Yes, sir?"

Crawford motioned her to join him in his office. He held the door for her and Starling heard him close the door behind her. He never did that.

"Sit down, Starling," he said as she was about to turn to face him. He never did that either, they most often talked while standing. She took another two steps and sat down in the chair in front of Crawford's desk. The man himself walked across the office and sat down in the comfortable swivel chair behind his desk.

Clarice studied Crawford's face as he retrieved a letter and a number of small plastic bottles from his top drawer. Besides the fact he was starting to noticeably age, had a three day's rubble and his reading glasses needed a good cleaning, she saw nothing of professional interest that indicated why he'd called her. He put the letter and the bottles on the desk, then opened them one by one, taking one pill from each.

"Starling."

"Yes, sir?"

Clarice thought this was getting a little Dick and Jane. Some people did that prior to swinging the proverbial ax. She hoped Crawford wasn't one of those people. He'd never needed to bring her bad news so she wasn't sure of it.

"You want something to drink?"

_Most definitely bad news. At least news he doesn't want to share, but has to._

"No thanks, I'm fine."

"You sure?" he asked.

Clarice shook her head. Crawford had the patent medicines in the palm of his hand and put them with a swift motion in his mouth, then washed them away with what was probably cold coffee. Clarice realized he'd given up on his old ritual of taking the pills one by one.

When he'd downed his daily dose of drugs, he took the letter from the envelope and handed it to her.

"Here, read."

Clarice looked at him, but he looked at the letter. Or somewhere close to.

She took the letter from him, opened it and started to read.

"There's nothing I can do, Starling," Crawford spoke as she was about halfway through the concise letter. She looked up briefly, but found Crawford was busy looking into his now empty coffee mug.

Clarice finished the letter.

"That's fucked up bullshit, total crap and he ought to have his brain replaced by a monkey's - it would improve his IQ immensely," she said finally.

"You've always been the most politically incorrect and foulmouthed person I know, Starling," Crawford said. Clarice managed to smile in spite of the circumstances.

"So they're practically ordering you to send me on a tour of lectures in Europe. As if they are waiting for _my _expertise! It's pretty obvious they just want me off the Lecter case. I just can't figure why?"

"Me neither, Starling. But there's nothing I can do about it. You'll have to face up to it. Or lose your job."

"Yeah, and then? Become a private dick? Follow dear Jane's hubbie to see if he's screwing someone else? U-huh, not me. Guess I have no option."

"Afraid not. You'll have to admit their timing's perfect - there's time to prepare your lectures before school starts again after summer break."

"Well, ain't I the lucky bastard then," Clarice said.

"Face up, Starling. You'll survive. You're a survivor, kid."

Crawford was right there. She was. Clarice didn't notice the involuntary movement of her hand to the spot on her cheek, but Crawford did.

.

The letter contained instructions for Clarice, including the name of her contact at the Intercontinental Criminological Education Committee. She was both surprised and relieved to find Dr. Brantley-Moore to be a lovable woman, who was pleased to hear Clarice would be going to Europe. She told Clarice it was hard to find good guest lecturers who could spare the time. Clarice smiled and told her she was looking forward to seeing the Old World. It served no use to vent her frustrations on this woman who was doing her best for her benefit. Clarice could practically leave everything in her capable hands, all she needed to focus on were the lectures. And she did.

To her own amazement, in spite of the lousy direct order, Clarice found she enjoyed collecting materials, noting down ideas, doing research and working on the actual texts. She had two and a half months before her first lecture and she gave full attention to the job. She made the best of that time. Crawford kept her informed on the progress, or better said the lack of progress, and after a while she started to feel this might not be so bad at all. And she started to understand why Crawford had always loved to give the occasional lecture.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Hello?" Clarice said. She was looking through some papers the following morning, when the phone rang.

"This is the receptionist speaking. There's a call for you from Mrs. Rollins-Mapp. Can I put her through?"

Clarice's mind raced. She'd been in Europe for a couple of weeks now, lecturing from Barcelona to Glasgow, and she and Dee had only used email to keep in touch so far. She wondered what had made Dee call now. The thought struck her something might have happened, and a freezing feeling came over her.

"Hello? Ms. Starling? Are you there?"

"... Erm, yes. Yes I am. Put her through, please."

Clarice waited for the click that announced contact with her best friend. Her best friend she sometimes called her surrogate mother. She heard the click.

"Dee?"

"Hey, Clarice."

"What's up, Dee?"

A slight pause at the other end.

Clarice knew it was bad news coming.

"It's... It's Crawford, Clarice. Jack died."

"What's that?"

"Jack's dead, Clarice. He didn't show up for a meeting and you know he's never late. The Director had someone check his house."

Clarice stood still, holding the phone, speechless.

"Clarice? Are you still there? Clarice?"

"... I... I am. How, Dee?"

"They found him in his living room. He was reading a book. They think he had a heart attack."

Clarice sat down on the bed.

"Clarice, you okay girl?"

"Yeah, I am. Shocked but OK. Crap."

"Crap, yeah."

"I'm coming, Dee. I need to be at his funeral."

"Sure. Nobody stopping you, girl."

"When is it?"

"Hell I don't know."

"Doesn't matter. I'm on my way. First plane."

"You be careful."

"I will, Dee. Thanks for calling."

"Always, girl. Love ya."

"You too. Bye."

.

The renovation of the Palais Garnier opera house was a shame - it would have been nice to see and visit the grand theatre without the scaffolding. Circumstances proved ,once again, to be of equal importance to planning.

Hannibal disliked the mastodonic Opéra Bastille, so he would try and visit the Théâtre du Châtelet, his penultimate choice in this city.

Paris, renovated and shaped by Baron Haussmann, was truly a very enjoyable way to spend September. Most tourists that visited the majestic city did so during summer holiday. They had left the city now and the Parisians had returned. Of course Hannibal knew many Parisians only visited the city during the week in their pied-à-terre and went back home to their families on the weekends, hopelessly clogging the roads on Friday afternoons like this one as they went. They could not really be counted as Parisians, but only temporary residents. To Hannibal it was the presence of the combined permanent and temporary inhabitants that added to the city's true character. The distinct driving style was an excellent example; it included parking without the use of the parking brake to allow others the chance of gently nudging your car, making best use of the limited parking space in the old city. Only a dumb or ignorant tourist would risk driving and parking in Paris and think their car would remain unscathed.

This city had _character_. This city _breathed_. This city was alive and an attraction to many. Which was, unfortunately, also its downside. Hannibal didn't mind an occasional visit to this lovely city but he did not want to feel exposed. Going there once a year sufficed for his needs. He could still order anything he wanted online the rest of the year.

Enjoying a solitary coffee on the terrace of a _petite café_ somewhere in the 1st arrondissement, Hannibal watched people go by. It was a delightful day. Hannibal felt rejuvenated. The plastic surgery of Dr. Sorcière and Dr. Lemur was part of the rejuvenated feeling - he _was_ looking younger. And he was _feeling_ younger, too, as he sat and watched the people go by and read them.

Here was a middle-aged man, at first sight your regular office prick calling a colleague or a client, but Hannibal saw the faint blush and perspiration, and he could almost smell the man's excitement as he passed by. He was talking to his _maîtresse_ beyond doubt - Hannibal saw the man's worn wedding ring.

And here was a young woman, strolling leisurely with an occasional glance left or right, dressed fashionably like your average Parisian young woman, but slightly more sensual. She smiled at Hannibal as her gaze met his, a courteous nod was her reward, but he made it clear he wasn't interested. She'd have to find another man for the evening and night.

And older woman shuffled by. She didn't look up or down nor left or right as she walked, her gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. Hannibal could almost hear the voices in her head screaming for her attention. A disturbed woman.

He finished his coffee and rose. There was so much to see and enjoy here. Walking to the _Musée d'Orsay_ wouldn't be a punishment at all; his route would lead him over the _Place du Carrousel_, allowing him a sneak preview at the majestic Louvre - Hannibal had planned a visit to its fabulous collection for tomorrow, his last day in this great city, before taking the night train back to Berlin - and along the book stands on the Quai Voltaire. He performed a minor adjustment to his new clothing before leaving the _café_. Yes, so much to see and enjoy here verily. Life was good.

.

The days following Crawford's funeral were empty, dreary days for Clarice. She followed the _advice _of the Director and stayed home to 'process the loss' as he'd called it, before returning to Europe. He meant, of course, she was expected to stay away from the office. It suited her fine anyway.

Ardelia managed to get two days off, and together they shopped and talked, but Clarice found she couldn't share her loss with her friend. So they talked about Ardelia and Henry mostly.

Home alone, Clarice often just sat and wondered and remembered.

She recalled her first encounter with Crawford, and the influence that meeting had on her life. Her decision to apply to the FBI. She'd been thinking about that lately. Did she apply because she wanted to please Crawford? Did she believe in Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity? Did she try to excel beyond expectation because she wanted him she valued to be proud of her? No, and yes. She had been trying to impress _someone_. But that someone wasn't Crawford. She'd realized at some point she did it because it would have made her poppa proud, that she'd inherited her sense of right and wrong from him. She'd done it for her father - the night watchman who had died in the line of duty.

Her father, long dead. Crawford, her surrogate father, now dead. Died in his living room while reading a book. Clarice cuddled herself, climbed into bed, crawled up like a fetus and cried. She cried for the loss of Crawford, for the loss of her father, for all the losses in her life.

_I'm a strong woman_, she told herself.

_I can handle this_.

She fell asleep repeating these lines. And when she woke the next morning, she found she was, and she could.

.

Two weeks later a step van brought Clarice, to her surprise, a large box. She was upstairs preparing for her return to Europe in three days when the delivery man called at her door. Clarice placed the books on her desk and walked downstairs, curious who was there. When she opened the door and saw the delivery guy, she smiled. From the corner of her eye, she could see Mr. Powell, one of her neighbors, arrive home. They waved.

"A big box, Ms. Starling."

"Bring her in," Clarice said.

"One mo'," the man said and he walked back to the van.

He retrieved the delivery from the van and returned to her door, the box on a hand truck. He wiped his brow with his sleeve as he parked the truck in front of her door.

"First room on the left," Clarice stated as she turned and walked inside. If the guy was thinking he could leave that heavyweight mother of boxes in front of her door, he was dead wrong. She could hear him curse softly for a moment, then the sounds of movement again. She waited for him in the living room. He managed the corner from the hallway into the room without banging into the door posts, much to Clarice's relief, and put the delivery down.

"Sure is a big box, ma'am."

"Sure is," Clarice replied.

"And a heavy 'un, too."

"Yup. Appreciate yer trouble."

"Well," said the man, "can't say no to a woman, eh? Being a heavy big box 'n all, you know."

Clarice had to be careful not to laugh out loud.

"Sign here please," the man continued after wiping his brow again.

"Right."

She signed for the delivery.

"Thanks."

"Yeah."

.

The letter explained everything. Clarice found it in an envelope on top of the box. It was from the executor of Crawford's will, informing her Crawford had bequeathed her a number of his books and some other effects, all related to his work and of no use for his family. She opened the box and took a peek inside. The first item she saw was Dr. Bloom's book. It instantaneously brought her back to that moment five years ago, when she'd brought it up while speaking with Dr. Lecter. She dismissed the thought as quickly as possible. She pulled the book from the box.

She'd been browsing for an hour when the phone rang. She rose from her chair and picked up the phone.

"Starling."

"Noonan here."

"Director. How may I help you?"

"By listening; I have a message for you."

"I'm listening."

_Shit._

"With the demise of Jack Crawford, the FBI lost an important man. Without him, Behavioral Science Unit would have looked totally different and I don't know how many greenhorns he helped saddle up. You know what I mean."

"I do, Sir."

_And F- you._

"As you know, he was very much committed to recapturing Hannibal 'The Cannibal' Lecter, and we'll miss his effort tremendously. But the work has to go on. We've found someone to replace Jack, to take charge of BSU. I'm sure you know Valentine?"

"Yes Sir, I do."

_Butt-kissing creep who incidentally is good in the field as well._

"He'll succeed Crawford, therefore he'll be your boss. You were giving lectures in Europe. You'll continue them, of course, as planned. When you return, you'll report to Valentine. Understood?"

"Yes Sir."

"Good luck, Starling."

"Thank you Sir."

She put down her phone and stared out the window.

_Could have been much worse. _

She could see her neighbor Mr. Powell again. He didn't look her way, no need to wave.

_They didn't close down the show and Valentine is a competent man._

She had realized a long time ago, a position at BSU was all she'd ever achieve in the FBI. She wasn't the team player they wanted, she didn't do office politics. They'd never choose her to succeed Crawford. It didn't hurt too much, she could accept it. It wasn't exactly nice, but she could live with it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter****9**

"... conclude this lecture with the same sentence I started it with: books won't tell you everything you need to know. Thank you for your attention."

An enthusiastic applause from the forty-odd students gathered in the small room followed. Clarice bowed her head in appreciation for the compliment. The applause lasted a while and it wasn't until it nearly died down that Martha, Clarice's contact at Humboldt University, rose and joined her in front of the assembly.

"We thank you for the wunderful lecture," she said in her German larded English, "it was a _Vergnügen_, a pleasure, you here to have."

"It's been a pleasure for me as well, thank you," Clarice replied in truth. Martha shook her hand, then addressed the assembly once more.

"_Das__war's__für__heute.__Danke__für__ihr__Anwesenheit._"

The group gave another short applause before they gathered their pens and notebooks and rose to leave. Amid the noise, Martha once more shook Clarice's hand and thanked her for her wonderful presentation.

"I saw they love your lecture."

"It was a wonderful group. They were eager and attentive. They really _cared_."

"Yes, they do. We have wunderful students," Martha agreed, "Will you have lunch here with us?"

Clarice remembered the German tendency to eat quite hearty at lunch, but she had an early afternoon appointment.

"Umm, I don't think I can manage. Maybe some other time?"  
"Naturally! Maybe tomorrow, after the evaluation?"

Most of the attendants had by now left the room, only a handful remained. Some were still busy packing their belongings, others were obviously waiting to speak with Clarice for a moment.

"That would be nice," Clarice said. "Will you excuse me? I think some of the students would like to have a word with me."

"Off course. _Wiederseh'n_!"

"Bye," Clarice replied and turned to the first student in line.

"Yes?"

"My name is Frosch. I'd like to thank you for your lecture. It was highly interesting."

Clarice nodded. "You're welcome."

"You mentioned the MBTI and its low reliability..."

"_Supposed_," Clarice interrupted, "Supposed low reliability."

"_Supposed_, yes. How do you feel about the TAT?"

"The Thematic Apperception Test? Well, not very different..." Clarice started.

The discussion that followed was good and Clarice didn't notice the time flying by until her eyes accidently fell on the clock above the door.

"Oh - I'm sorry, but we really need to end this conversation. It's been great but I've got to go."

"The fact is easy to unravel," the red-nosed student called Brander continued nevertheless. Clarice interrupted him.

"I'm sorry, but really, time's up. We've been talking here for almost an hour and I have an appointment."

"Brander, _hau__ab_," said Siebel, the third student of the group.

"All right, all right," said Brander.

"Again, thank you for your lecture and enjoy your time in Berlin," Siebel said and took leave, guiding Brander with him.

"Goodbye, and thank you," Clarice said, "I will."

"Bye," Frosch said as the three left the room.

Clarice immediately packed her things and took her exit. She quickly descended the stairs and got a Ritter Sport from a vending machine in the hall on her way out. Outside, a sweet late fall Berlin sun greeted her with its bright rays. It was a delightful day. Clarice did not have far to go, only a few blocks to the S-bahn station Adlershof. She started to walk and eat her chocolate.

She reached the station in a few minutes and waited for the next train. She could take both the S8 and the S9, which reduced waiting time to 10 minutes max. She finished her Ritter Sport while waiting. It was a sunny and pleasant day.

An S9 train arrived soon and Clarice boarded the funny-looking yellow and red carriage - a strange contrast to the rather utilitarian inside. She boarded and saw there weren't many passengers. Clarice chose a nice place to sit on the sunny side of the carriage. The lovely weather made her smile while she relaxed, waiting for the train to reach Treptower Park station.

Clarice thought about her approaching appointment with Martin at the _Bundeskriminalamt_, or Federal Criminal Police Office in English. Crawford - she was still not fully accustomed to his demise yet and often missed his presence - had given her a list of people she should contact when in Europe and she was glad for it. The contacts were serious people, trustworthy. Each new man or woman on the list she met confirmed it.

Johann of the BKA was no exception. A man of average build and posture. Blond and blue eyed, as so many Germans. A decent fellow. They'd discussed each other's work during their encounters and he'd given her welcome advice for her various lectures. He'd taken her to dinner two times - courtesy of the BKA - and had not, true to his marital status, made any move towards her. Clarice liked him.

The train reached the station right on schedule. It wasn't a long ride and she'd heard the Berlin trains hardly ever experienced problems. Clarice got out and walked towards the four buildings that made up the Treptowers complex, the distinctive 125m high-rise held offices of the BKA.

"_Ja,__bitte_?"

"Hello, my name is Clarice Starling and I have an appointment with Johann Martin."

"HerrnMartin. Yes, I'll call him. Could you add your name etc. on this form, along with the number of your identity document or passport, please?"

"Sure," Clarice said and filled in the form the woman behind the desk handed her. She returned the form and held her passport in a readable position for the woman.

"Thank you," the receptionist said after checking Clarice's input on the form. "Herrn Martin will be here in a minute. Please, have a seat over there."

"Thank you."

Clarice sat down in the comfortable chairs and waited. A television in the corner was on, muted. Clarice watched the CNN broadcast until she could hear someone approaching. Clarice looked up and recognized Martin. She rose and took the hand he offered.

"Clarice, good to see you again. How are you?"

"Fine, thanks. Nice to see you too."

"Shall we?" the jovial man asked and helped her through the security gates. He preceded her to his office.

Clarice couldn't resist a smile - again - when she saw the name tag next to the door with his full name on it: Johann Wolfgang Martin. It was odd, seeing the middle name completely spelled out. If asked, she would introduce herself to people as Clarice _M._Starling. She hardly ever gave her full middle name and only a handful of people actually knew it.

Johann motioned her to have a seat.

"How was the lecture?"

"Amazing! German students are so... driven. It's fu.. err.. really amazing."

"You told me the same last time you lectured."

"I know. But it is amazing, truly. This time was even better - I never got this much response before! I almost had to surgically remove some students this time..." Clarice said and laughed. Martin laughed too.

"Well, glad you could make it. I got a few new cases I'd like your opinion about."

"Sure. Wanna do them now?"

"Not before we have some coffee and you tell me how you liked our asparagus."

"Your what?"

"Asparagus."

Clarice's expression was of one who sees water burning. Johann smiled.

"Our television tower; it's nickname is _Telespargel_ but 'television asparagus' just doesn't sound as good. You told me last week you were going to visit it, did you enjoy the view?"

"Sure did - I could see everything from the 'asparagus'."

"What else did you do?"

"Oh well, not much, but I did some fun shopping."

"Yeah, the Alexanderplatz and the Hackesche Höfe are good areas for a shopping _spree_..." Johann said. Clarice nodded.

Johann looked at her expectantly but Clarice didn't know what he expected of her.

"Something wrong?" she asked, looking at her clothes, then trying to find a mirror or something reflective.

"No, nothing wrong, really, only that my little pun was lost on you. The _Spree_ is also the name of the river that runs through Berlin. Sorry, lame joke."

"Lame? No! I just didn't get it. Anyway... the cases?"

"The cases, sure. Here they are."

Johann and Clarice slowly progressed through the stack of files Johann had on his desk. It was a large stack, but Clarice didn't mind. In fact, the stack was this large due to herself; she'd insisted Johann ask her assistance wherever a spark of doubt existed. And Johann held her to her word. Luckily, most cases weren't that difficult or the spark of doubt too lively. Slowly but surely they worked their way through the lot.

"You might recognize this one," Johann said, "it was all over the news these last weeks."

"Show me?"

Johann handed her the file and Clarice opened it. A smile appeared on her face.

"Yeah, I remember this one. He was caught red-handed, right?"

"U-huh. He was caught red-handed, literally. And all evidence pointed at him, plus he had a motive. Yet he always maintained he's innocent."

"Now I'm curious."

"He said something the other day that piqued my interest. Wait - there's the transcription of the conversation," Johann pointed. "I'll read and translate."

Clarice gave him the file and Johann started to read and translate each sentence. Clarice had more than once complimented him on his English. It was common for German people to speak at least some English. Johann's mastery of the language was rare.

"Johann!" a man at the door said.

Johann stopped translating and looked up. "What's the matter, Knut?" he asked in German.

"They're asking for you. Something happened," his colleague replied, shocked. "A horrible incident in Spandau. Lazarus Street. A man was found _skinned_."

Johann turned to Clarice and explained.

"I'm sorry, but something came up. They found a body."

Johann turned to the man and rose. They continued their conversation in German.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. They just asked me to show you these and fetch you."

Knut handed Johann a number of pictures. Johann took them and spread them on his desk.

"What sick asshole would do something like that?" Johann asked nobody in particular. Then he turned to Clarice. "Can you have a look?"

Clarice, who had remained passive throughout their interaction, not wanting to disturb Johann in his work, stood and walked over. He gave her some room next to him to study the pictures.

Clarice saw a garage, a complex of garages. One of the overhead doors was open. The next picture was from closer by, a shot of the complete interior. She could see something in the back of the garage. The next shot was the horrible one. Clarice saw the body, upside down, and flayed. _Skinned_. Her breath froze for a second. So many years ago but skinning still made her more queasy than anything else. But this was different. Not because it could not have been Jame Gumb, he was long dead. There was something… wrong. Clarice picked up the photograph and studied it.

Clarice saw the body. Upside down. Wrists tied. What was it? What was wrong with the picture? She looked again.

A bucket. A dead dog. No, two dead dogs - a smaller one near the man's hands. Knives. A bucket on the right side. And to the left - what was that? A panflute?

That was when Clarice knew, when the spark of recognition kindled. Her hands dropped to the desk and with eyes wide she looked at Johann.

"The Flaying of Marsyas," she stuttered, "by Titian."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter****10**

Hannibal's hands flowed across the keyboard as he improvised on a theme by Scriabin. True to the composer, Hannibal used a lot of crescendo and climaxes, following his own preferences he kept a counterpoint melody going alongside the variations. To his own merriment, the music practically wrote itself in his mind and he focused on the dynamics instead.

The continuing waves of music could be seen as the ups and downs in life, but Hannibal didn't see life that way. Life wasn't a continuum. More than most people, he knew life could change in an instant. And life itself could be over within the blink of an eye. But that didn't mean there was no need to plan ahead. In fact, he had created contingency plans for the most likely things that could happen. But likelihood and statistics in general were in the end nothing more than numbers. There was no certainty in them. Events with high probability sometimes never happened. An event with the slightest probability of ever happening will, with enough attempts, eventually happen. Murphy's law.

Hannibal decided it was time for some _rinforzando_. His hands translated his thoughts into movement. The short bursts of emphasized phrases rang through the spacious room, and beyond. In the room next door, where Hannibal had installed his moderately sized but otherwise exquisite mahogany desk, the music lived on.

On Hannibal's desk were today's papers. There were a number of international papers he preferred to keep up with. And there were two local papers. All of them of vital importance for concocting contingency plans. Bild was the only paper still lying open on the desk, the rest of them had been read and neatly folded. On the right page visible, the local pages, was the article that had caught Hannibal's interest. _Häutung __in __Spandau!_ screamed the title. A pity the article didn't include a decent picture of the percept, that would have been nice. Instead, it featured a slightly out-of-focus photo from farther away.

But it wasn't the fact his murder was mentioned in a paper that had captivated Hannibal's attention. He wasn't vain and he certainly needed no coverage from Bild to get satisfaction. He had memorized more from the event than any paper or picture could ever conceive - nothing could capture such deeds better than the human mind. It was the name he'd encountered.

Time for the final variation. _Al __niente_. And so, like the life that had slowly left the man on Lazarus Street, the music slowly died down. Hannibal remained seated while he relived the day he killed the man.

.

While most people can find several reasons to visit Leipzig, whether the Monument to the Battle of the Nations, the Gewandhaus, Auerbach's Cellar, the Leipzig Trade Fair or the fact the city could easily be included in a list of ten cities to visit, there were only two reasons for Hannibal to visit Leipzig: it was the city where Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz was born and where he hoped to find out more about this illustrious polymath, the other reason was Bach, who worked as cantor at the St. Thomas Church. Hannibal had decided to just visit the city instead of calling and making appointments beforehand. Time was on his side, he could always return.

The drive from his residency in Potsdam to Leipzig, over the A9, had been a pleasure. Hannibal loved driving the limitless German highways though he didn't push his powerful but not too conspicuous Ruf Turbo R past the recommended 130 KMPH. An accident and its collateral media attention would not serve him well. Luckily, the sensation of the sound and the power were sufficient for his senses.

After parking his car at the University, Hannibal entered the Augustplatz building leisurely and asked the woman behind the reception desk if and where he could learn more on Leibniz. Hannibal gauged her capable of knowing who Leibniz was and why he would be asking about him here. And to his private glee, she did know Leibniz. She told him she'd call someone who'd be able to assist him further and asked him to take a seat while waiting. Hannibal gracefully nodded and sat down.

Professor Keks was reserved at first. After exchanging a few words with Hannibal and a few pushes on the right buttons by Hannibal, Keks was delighted to have such an interested and well educated man visiting him. He even rescheduled an appointment to facilitate answering all his questions and took him to the university library after their colloquy, where he showed him a number of publications that would undisputedly answer most of his remaining inquiries.

Hannibal enjoyed the game he was playing with the poor professor. He knew he could easily talk the man into offering him the books. While that would be amusing, missing books from this library would be an unnecessary risk. He had noticed the cameras. He settled for dismissing the man and browsing them here and now. After all, he was more interested in their contents than the books themselves.

The librarian, who walked around from time to time to check if everything was in order, was a stern but honest woman. Hannibal had a low-voiced, friendly conversation with her the first time she came by. By the third time she walked her round, she brought the charming visitor a cup of coffee. It was a rare occasion such a fine gentleman visited the library. Unfortunately, he gently declined her offer to drink his coffee with her at her post.

After he'd read and memorized everything of importance to him, Hannibal bid the librarian goodbye and left the university in high spirits.

The walk to St. Thomas Church was only a brief one - these Old World city centers were rarely large and Leipzig was no exception; its center was roughly 500 meters from one side to the other. Hannibal headed north first and turned left into Grimmaische Straße. As he walked he smelled the various restaurants around and thought it might be a good idea to have a bite.

The restaurant he chose was large but unexpectedly cozy. Niches allowed smaller companies seclusion. But the waiter recognized the gentleman in Hannibal and led him to a gothic vaulted separate room with even better tables and atmosphere. Hannibal ordered a filet of venison without the side dishes as he didn't share the German preference for a full warm meal at this hour of day.

Hannibal's eyes scanned the room while waiting for his filet. The numerous paintings and letters on the wall interested him and he rose to have a better look. He noticed they bore witness to all famous visitors who visited the establishment. Some paintings and letters were truly old, he saw some dating back to the 18th century. Such moments rekindled his love for the Old World, and Europe specifically.

The waiter noticed Hannibal's interest in the works of art and the room. Though he had learned to discern between those who appreciated some unsolicited information and those who didn't in his years as a waiter here, he wasn't sure about this man. He decided not to take his chances. Nothing could ruin a day more than a disturbed customer.

Hannibal returned to his table when he smelled his venison coming. That was another thing he liked about this country - its preference for and abundance of game for food. As they served him, Hannibal was pleased to see the venison was prepared just right and of excellent quality. This day was golden and favored so far.

After the smooth tasting meal Hannibal enjoyed a robust coffee before asking for the check. He added a proper _Trinkgeld_ to the bill and left.

Feeling better with his gastronomical needs met, Hannibal continued the short walk to St. Thomas Church. Wandering past the old market square, the church came into sight and Hannibal continued down the Thomasgasse.

With the church in sight before him, Hannibal mused on Bach, who had been the choir director here from 1723 till his death in 1750. The 250th anniversary of his death had been recently commemorated on 28 July. Hannibal had not been present. He had no wish to commemorate the man's death, he wanted to become more acquainted with the man in life.

He was sure the man must have had simultaneous thoughts, like him. He could hear it most clearly in Bach's beloved counterpoint.

Hannibal walked a full lap around the church and took a good look at the impressive building from all sides before he walked in. He had seen the Woehl company car outside therefore he wasn't surprised seeing a number of men milling around the brand new white organ that arose high and proud on the north choir loft. Hannibal was intrigued by the instrument but he strolled over to Bach's site of internment in the nave. It turned out a disappointment. He had hoped to find a highly decorated stone of fine craftsmanship alike the man's oeuvre, but found a boring metal plaque with just the name of the composer instead. At that moment the organ started playing and Hannibal heard the first notes of Bach's St. Matthew Passion. He walked over to where he could see and hear the instrument best and sat down to listen.

He enjoyed the impromptu concert by the men from Woehl. They played a number of random pieces; probably to further test the new organ. When they were done Hannibal went over to them and asked them if he might try the beautiful instrument himself. They assented after a quick glance at the stranger. He looked trustworthy and serious.

Hannibal seated himself behind the four manuals and concentrated. Playing an organ was both alike and unlike playing a piano. He'd always been intrigued by the use of all limbs to play it and the multitude of registers and combination thereof in playing. He checked the registers and played the final choral from Bach's Cantata BWV 95, and a few variations while he was at it.

When Hannibal was done playing, he thanked the men for their hospitality. He left the church and went to the Bach Museum across the street. He didn't expect to find much here he didn't already know, but perhaps he could find a new book in the museum shop.

Hannibal drove back to Potsdam. It had been an outstanding day so far and he was enjoying the ride back as much as the rest of the day. As he neared Potsdam he noticed the Ruf was getting low on fuel. He decided to exit at Horstweg to buy some gas.

Just as he approached the gas station, he saw a car speed off. In the distance he could hear a police siren. A look at the gas station told him enough. He followed the car.

.

Hannibal rose from behind his piano and walked over to the next room, and to his desk. There, halfway the second paragraph, there it was.

_An anonymous source within the BKA told us FBI's Clarice Starling, the famous homicide expert who has been lecturing at Berlin University recently, is lending the BKA a hand in the investigation of this bizarre case._

Seeing Clarice's name in the article set off a warning mechanism in his mind. Hannibal doubted the BKA had noticed the similarity of his tableau with Titian's painting. He wondered if Clarice would see it. He guessed she would. No, he _knew_ she would...


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter****11**

"Really, Starling, that's it? The crime scene looks like a _painting_?" Valentine asked in a tone that usually kept most from disputing.

"Isn't it enough? With all due respect, sir, with my years of experience in the field," she started, thinking she was getting old enough to use it against this son-of-a-bitch boss, "considering my knowledge of Hannibal Lecter's MO and my personal experience with him, I think this is more than enough to at least consider the possibility!"

"You're forgetting _my_ years of experience in the field, Starling. Perhaps not as many years as you, but I've been there. I know what's happening out there."

Valentine's rude reference to her age stung but Clarice could and would take it. For now.

"And your knowledge of Hannibal Lecter's MO," Valentine continued, "Is based on a number of visits you had with him, where you mostly discussed a case and exchanged information on yourself. When did he ever tell you anything about himself? I read the transcriptions and listened to the tapes, Starling. He gave you zilch on himself. He dismissed the questionnaire and never got back to it."

"Apart from the interaction we had..." Clarice started to say but Valentine cut her short.

"You didn't _interact_, Starling, you talked to him and he listened. He didn't tell you anything."

"...I studied him intensely together with Mr. Crawford when he escaped," Clarice retorted and closed her eyes briefly when she mentioned her late boss' name.

"I _know_ him. I know what he likes and I know what he dislikes," she said, her head still down in remembrance.

"Fava beans? Chianti? Come on, Starling, that's not investigating! There are many people who like such things. Hell, _I_ like a Sauternes to go with my dessert!"

Clarice's head rose and her fiery eyes stared in the distance while she countered again. "But not everybody can afford _all_ of those things!"

"No, they can't. But why do you think he can? Can you say beyond doubt he has access to the resources needed for a life like that?"

Clarice had to think for a moment if she believed he had.

"And your personal experience?" Valentine barged on, "So he told you to look at Marsyas' painting to understand how one should properly flay. Okay, true. But now he killed someone - the first time a case comes up worldwide that might be his work - and skinned the man and arranged him and some buckets and shit to resemble that picture so you could identify his work and chase him? You're telling me he _wants_ to be caught?"

"No sir, I'm not saying he wants to be caught, but..."

"Listen, Starling, listen," Valentine interrupted her. "You know what? I'll disregard the fact you apparently were already connected to the case, according to the media. And I'll allow the KBA..."

"BKA," Clarice snapped, angry and tired of the fight.

"BKA, whatever. I'll allow the _BKA_ to ask your opinion while you're in Germany. Your _opinion_, Starling, not your _cooperation_. Stay alert, but nothing more. Don't tell them you think Hannibal Lecter might be involved. You finish your lectures there and when they're done, you go to France or Spain or wherever you're supposed to go and when you've done lecturing, you get back here and we'll talk, okay? BSU will be waiting for you."

_Crap._

"Am I clear, Starling?"

"Yes sir," Clarice replied.

"Good. Do your job, Starling. You lecture and make us proud, okay?"

_Screw you, Valentine._

"Yes, _sir_."

Clarice heard the click and then the continuous tone of disconnection.

.

She had to face the grim reality of her position at the FBI once again. She wasn't the team player they wanted, she didn't do office politics. They needed her at BSU but they didn't want her to lead it. They wanted to be able to pull some strings and she had no strings attached. She believed it was a matter of take it or leave it, and they had not taken it. They favored other properties over her value and values in a leader.

_So be it._

_I'll be one of the people at BSU. Not a team player but the soloist you can't do without. _

_"Do your job, Starling."_

_Screw you, Valentine. Again._

_I'll do my job alright. I'll do it. Not a penny more, not a penny less._

.

"Hey, Clarice! Good morning," said Johann and he rose to shake her hand. Clarice couldn't really get used to this apparent custom or morning ritual.

"Hey, Johann. _Guten Morgen_. What's up?"

"Nothing much, but I figured I should try and ask you your _opinion_ as much as possible if I can't ask for your _cooperation_," he said and smiled.

Clarice had told him the restrictions Valentine had placed upon her and Johann had told her he was sorry for her. Johann also knew he could use her help so he tried to bend the rules a bit...

"Knut thought there might be more to the blood patterns we found. He asked if you could help us out, give your _opinion_."

Johann smiled his contagious smile.

"Of course."

"Great. Let's go to his office."

Clarice followed Johann's lead.

"Coffee?" he asked when they were halfway.

"Sure," Clarice replied.

Johann stopped at the coffee machine.

"Here's your java," he said, handing Clarice a cup.

"Thanks," she said and smiled. "You know, I'm still amazed by your English. You speak it very well."

Johann grinned and proceeded down the hall.

"I watched a lot of foreign TV when I grew up, mostly American cartoons, and picked up a bit that way. Then school, of course. I still watch a lot of English TV, not the German TV with dubbed voices. And I read a lot of English books."

"It's amazing, really."

"Thanks! Ah, we're here," Johan said. They could see Knut through the window and he saw them also. He waved them in. Johann opened the door and let Clarice in first.

.

Hannibal kept track of all media attention on his tableau, hoping to find out more about Clarice's involvement. He was certain the BKA would not be able to link the case to his current false identity. Even if they did recognize Titian's painting in it - he reproached himself for having been so whimsical - he was sure he had left no evidence or traces at Lazarus Street, he hadn't taken anything edible, nor was there any link between the painting and his current life as Heinrich, Legal Advisor to the rich (but not famous) without any visible interest in art.

In his current identity he even deprived himself of a number of his New World vices like certain wines and foods. It was still too soon after his escape to continue his preferred way of life, even if he wasn't in the United States anymore. He wasn't sure how hard the FBI was looking for him. It might be so fervent they'd contact their foreign counterparts, but he really doubted that.

Clarice, though, was a completely different case. In her cranium were stored all the necessary components that, combined with the cursed coincidence of her current stay in Germany, _would_ lead to the careful conclusion Hannibal might have been at work here. It was a long shot though. Her idea would be based on the likeness of the scene with a painting he once mentioned to her ages ago - or so it seemed.

So Hannibal kept track of all media attention to find out more about Clarice's involvement. So far it seemed she either hadn't linked the painting to his words, or they - whether the BKA or the FBI - had chosen not to look into it. Not a single word on the possible connection arose, nor any sign Clarice was a full participant in the investigation. Her involvement appeared to be marginal.

_Why?_

_What happened, Clarice? How has life treated you since we parted?_

His curiosity was piqued. She had remained at the BSU after Crawford's death and Valentine's appointment to office, and lectured throughout Europe. Was she on a side track, had she reset her goals, was she merely entertaining someone's fancy?

He stood before one of the high windows of his study and though his eyes were open and he appeared to be watching the boats on Tiefer See, he was going through all the options with their probability and his possible actions and their consequences.

After this precise task that took him four minutes he walked over to his desk, commended the newspapers to the paper bin and sat down. Then he took a new piece of paper and placed it in front of him, after which he took out his fountain pen and started to write.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter****12**

When Clarice walked into the lobby of her hotel and towards the elevator, the receptionist called her.

"Ms. Starling!"

Clarice turned, then walked over to the front desk and the young woman.

"Yes?" Clarice asked and read the woman's name from her name tag.

"There was a delivery for you. Post."

"Post? For me?"

"Yes, I've got it back here. Please wait."

Hollie walked to a cabinet behind her and retrieved a small stack of various items from it. She placed it on the desk in front of Clarice, who put the stack in her bag in two steps. Clarice saw one of the flyers advertised chocolate and she wondered why she would receive that, but she decided to have a proper look in her room.

"Thanks, Hollie," Clarice said and smiled.

Hollie smiled back as Clarice turned and headed for the elevator.

Once inside her room, Clarice pulled the stack out of her bag and dumped it on the desk and thought it could wait for another hour - she really needed a bath right now. She walked into the bathroom and turned on the tap and poured in a nice amount of bath soap. When she returned she checked her cell phone for texts and missed calls, stripped to her panties and went into the bathroom again. She liked to sit in the bath while the water level rose and the foam developed.

.

Hannibal Lecter, gentleman as always, folded the finished letter neatly in three and slid it gently home in the envelope, though he refrained from buying luxury fine paper and bought plain office notepads and envelopes from one of the most common brands worldwide instead as part of his disguise. Clarice would understand. He had bought a yellow envelope for the occasion, though.

He inserted the yellow envelope just above the bottom of the stack of material on chocolate and children's things he'd purchased and addressed to Clarice. Next he inserted the whole stack in one large envelope and closed the flap. Satisfied with the result, Hannibal rose and took it with him. He donned his long coat and went outside, stepped into his car and drove over to the post office.

At the post office, Hannibal handed the envelope to the woman behind the desk. The envelope would go to a remailing service and Clarice would receive her surprise stack in three days, unmarked, unstamped and untraceable.

Would she recognize his package as a resemblance of a Kinder Surprise?

.

Clarice donned the long hotel bathrobe and took the stack with her to the bed, where she sat down and placed everything next to her. She picked up the first item. It was a flyer from Toys"R"Us. Clarice turned it over and saw it was truly addressed to her.

_Must __be __a __joke __from __Blumenthal._

The next item was a box of Merci chocolates.

_Guess __he __misses __me._

Then another number of flyers from various children's toy stores and chocolate.

_Idiot._

And then, oddly enough, a yellow envelope with a plain white address label with her name on it, but no address this time.

.

Sitting behind his piano, Hannibal played some delicate Satie in the distinctive style of Reinbert de Leeuw's epic 1975 recording.

.

_That's __odd__… __Everything __else __was __addressed._

Slowly, very slowly, Clarice realized what that meant.

_This __is __no __coincidence. __The __letter __is __the __reason __for __the __odd __stack __of __flyers __and __chocolate. __This __isn't __Blumenthal's __work..._

Clarice turned the envelope over, nothing out of the ordinary on the backside.

_Whose __work __is __it __then, __and __why?_

She reached for a pen from the desk and opened the envelope with its clip. Inside was a letter and she could see it was handwritten. Clarice pulled it out and opened it.

Hannibal wondered at what point of the letter Clarice would realize he'd sent the stack.

**Dear ****Clarice,**

**What ****a ****pleasant ****surprise ****it ****was ****to ****find ****your ****name ****in ****the ****papers ****once ****again. ****With ****all ****the ****drabble ****in ****the ****articles, ****your ****name ****stood ****out ****like ****a ****desired ****toy ****in ****a ****decapitated ****faux-chocolate ****egg.**

**Your ****father ****treasured ****you. ****You ****were ****his ****visible ****gem ****in ****his ****otherwise ****underprivileged ****world. ****Others ****may ****have ****been ****less ****appreciative. ****Did ****jealous ****fellow ****orphans ****mock ****you ****for ****your ****outstanding ****morals? ****Has ****someone ****called ****you ****ruby ****instead ****of ****rube ****yet?**

With a jolt, she suddenly realized who had written this letter.

_Shit. __Monkey__balls __and __shit. __Why __didn't __I __realize __it __sooner?_

And right after that, Clarice couldn't help thinking about the question. To her frustration she couldn't say someone had.

Hannibal finished Satie's first Gymnopédie. After a thoughtful minute he started playing the calming adagio of Rachmaninoff's successful second piano concerto.

**If ****so, ****good ****for ****you. ****If ****not, ****know ****yourself. ****Don't ****accept ****your ****dog's ****admiration ****as ****conclusive ****evidence ****that ****you ****are ****wonderful.**

Clarice wondered what game Hannibal was playing, praising her and paying her such compliments. It was a rare occasion that he did and it was never that simple.

**Speaking ****of ****evidence, ****I ****understand ****you ****got ****involved ****in ****an ****extraordinary ****case. ****I ****won't ****draw ****your ****attention ****to ****the ****fact ****the ****victim ****was ****killed ****suspiciously ****soon ****after ****an ****incident ****at ****a ****gas****station, ****but ****I ****will ****disclose ****I ****find ****it ****enthralling ****to ****know ****we're ****in ****such ****close**** proximity, ****if ****only ****by ****chance ****and ****for ****a ****brief ****time. ****The ****paths ****of ****our ****lives ****joined ****once ****again, ****Clarice. ****How ****could ****I ****ignore ****that?**

Hannibal's hands moved gracefully up and down the keyboard. Most often they played their part on their own side of the manual but sometimes they met or he had to cross his hands to play the right notes. He mused playing the piano resembles life in a way. People meet and cross paths. Some notes shouldn't be played together, some agree beautifully.

**Can **_**you **_**ignore ****it? ****Probably ****not, ****either.**

Clarice sighed.

_Indeed, __Dr. __Lecter. __I __can not. __You __know __I __can't._

**Question ****is: ****what ****now, ****Clarice? ****Will ****you ****see ****through ****the ****bars ****of ****my ****plight ****and ****ache ****for ****me, ****or ****will ****you ****see ****me ****behind ****bars ****and ****have ****me ****ache? ****Turn ****your ****palms ****up, ****Clarice, ****and ****decide. ****Fill ****your ****left ****hand ****with ****your ****duty ****and ****obligation ****to ****the ****FBI, ****your ****right ****hand ****with ****your****… ****fascination. ****And ****let's ****not ****forget ****resentment.**

Clarice turned her palms up, in spite of an initial urge to ignore his instructions. Left hand, right hand. She giggled as she suddenly remembered an adage from her childhood that included both hands cupped as well. Valentine had given her a lot of shit lately.

She looked down at her hands.

_Either __I'm __not __a __good __scale, __not __in __the __mood __for __games, __or __both __hands __are __equally __heavy, __Doctor__…_

Hannibal smiled as he finished the last notes and registered the reverb of the sounds in the room. Then he relived Clarice's footsteps in the asylum. Not when she left, her footsteps fading away. No, her first appearance, when he could hear determination in her walk in spite of her initial reluctance. He had recognized and admired her drive from the start.

_Virtue __she __hath, __and __modest __heed,  
Is __piquant __too, __and __sharp __withal._

**Are ****your ****hands ****turned ****up, ****Clarice? ****Which ****one ****is ****heavier? ****Or ****are ****they ****perhaps ****of ****equal ****weight?**

_What's __your __game, __Hannibal?_

**I ****won't ****feign ****to ****know ****the ****outcome ****of ****this ****little ****experiment, ****Clarice. ****I ****can ****make ****an ****educated ****guess, ****but ****I'm ****not ****omniscient. ****And ****it's ****of ****no ****use ****for **_**me **_**to ****know ****its ****outcome ****- ****this ****was ****just ****a ****small ****exercise ****for **_**your **_**benefit.**

**I'll ****tell ****you ****what ****would ****be ****beneficial ****for **_**both **_**of ****us. ****Don't ****denounce ****me.**

Clarice frowned.

_Don't __denounce __you, __Dr. __Lecter? __Why? __I __can't __imagine __you __fear __to __flee __again. __So, __what's __your __game?_

Her footsteps, due to her cheap shoes, had been the sound of determination. Emotions had played their parts on her face ungoverned, yet she managed to fuel her drive with her anger. Her unexpected perspicaciousness had not faltered throughout her visits.

**First ****of ****all, ****you **_**know **_**I'll ****be ****gone ****the ****moment ****I ****smell ****anything ****FBI ****or ****like-minded. ****If ****catching ****me ****is ****your ****goal, ****you'll ****have ****to ****do ****it ****yourself.**

**Second, ****indulge ****me ****and ****allow ****me ****to ****offer ****you ****a ****trinket.**

_What __the __heck?_

**Third, ****indulge ****yourself. ****The ****thrill. ****Your ****acumen. ****Me.**

Hannibal admitted to himself he could not foresee her decision. Perhaps she wouldn't decide and merely go along in this little game until she made up her mind.

Clarice's mind wandered off from the letter for a moment.

_I __suspected __the __murder __was __by __his __hands. __He __shows __specific __insight __in __the __case __in __this __letter. __He __admits __being __nearby. __He __says __it's __only __for __a __brief __time. __He's __perceptive __enough __to __smell __danger __from __miles __away. __He __will __be __gone __immediately. __He __sent __me __a __letter __while __he __could __have __discarded __me __as __easily._

Her eyes focused onto the letter again. Only a few more lines.

**All ****work ****and ****no ****play ****makes ****Jack ****a ****dull ****boy, ****Clarice. ****Let's ****play ****a ****little ****game. ****The ****beginning ****is ****easy: ****you ****continue ****your ****duties ****while ****I ****wait ****for ****my ****turn.**

**Regards,**

**H.**

_What __now, __Clarice?_


	13. Chapter 13

_Dearest readers, I'm sure many of you wish our lovely couple to meet soon. Rest assured, they will. Just not this chapter yet. The next chapter, I promise.  
Please hold on while the story unfolds. Things need to be told at the right time, not too early, not too late._

* * *

**Chapter****13**

"Aren't they starting to wonder why we need your opinion so often? Do they consider us complete fools yet?" Johann asked.

Clarice looked at him and thought he was dead serious due to his composed face and was about to ensure him the FBI wouldn't see it that way when she noticed the tiny spark in his eyes.

"I'm sure the time I spend here, even if it doesn't interfere with my lectures, will be considered excessively high. And yes, someone probably will think that," she replied, trying to keep her face as composed as Johann had. She had never been a good jester but to her own surprise, she managed quite well right now. She saw Johann's face drop slightly.

"I'm not sure how that might affect the cooperation between the bureaus in the end," she said, managing to remain looking serious while deliberately lying. "Are you considering forgoing consulting me?"

Clarice enjoyed seeing Johann's face drop even more.

"Well, perhaps it's better I'm not required to report my working hours right now," she continued, "so you're off the hook. And the BKA. Ignorance is bliss."

Johann had to digest what Clarice said for a moment before he started to smile wholeheartedly as he understood she'd been pulling his leg in return. Clarice joined his contagious mirth with her own bright laughter.

"Good one," said Johann when their laughter had subsided enough.

Clarice smiled. "Thanks. Now, let's get to work. Did that background check yield anything?"

"Ah, now we're talking. Yes, it did. I admit I seriously doubted if we should do that check, but..."

.

After a long, fruitful day of work, Johann invited her for another dinner - courtesy of the BKA of course - to show their appreciation for her effort, a decent meal at the restaurant around the corner where they dined before.

Johann had easily persuaded her the first time there to try some local food. Clarice understood people's pride in local dishes, therefore she'd allowed Johann to choose for her both times before, but she decided to choose for herself from now on.

They entertained themselves with some small talk and watching people and cars in the street until the waiter came for their orders.

Hannibal sat, disguised, on the other side of the restaurant and watched the two law enforcers talk and eat. When Clarice and the German fellow had entered the restaurant, Hannibal quickly assessed the situation and surmised his current face and appearance were different enough from Clarice's material that he could risk entering the establishment and be seated in her vicinity. Of course he continued walking down the road first with only a quick peek inside while passing, returned after two minutes, and entered.

Clarice enjoyed her small season's salad while Johann had onion soup. A salad was less substantial to eat and would allow her to enjoy the main course more.

"_Kann __ich __Ihnen __helfen?_ " asked the waiter.

"_Pasta __all'arrabiata, __bitte_, " Hannibal ordered. He had seen Clarice and John Doe (as he teasingly called Clarice's companion) order two courses. He doubted a dessert would follow. He would have time to work his way through the single course, keep an eye on the couple and have a coffee afterwards. It was almost an axiom for Hannibal: coffee nowadays, with the decent coffee machines any proper restaurant could buy, was usually adequate enough to wash away the taste of any dish served. From the scent of the food surrounding him he judged the necessity for coffee afterwards to be low, but it would be a good way to remain seated without drawing attention.

"Will that be all, sir?" the waiter continued in German.

"For now, yes, thank you," Hannibal replied, as fluent in the language as the waiter.

Not wishing to spend their time talking about work, Clarice and Johann discussed a number of topics over dinner. After they'd talked about Clarice's skills with firearms and Johann's fancy for classic German literature - in which field he showed exceptional skills by proclaiming pieces from a number of well known works - they started to talk about the German unification. Johann told Clarice he'd grown up in the former GDR or Eastern Germany, in a small town not too far from Berlin. His father had been a hunter who, during summers, went out into the forest nearly every day to shoot wild boar and deer. He'd seen his share of butchered meat, the only abnormal thing about their current case for him was the fact it concerned a human.

Clarice listened to his entertaining stories of life in the GDR, her first real look ever at socialism. He admitted there had been faults and shortcomings. He had a funny example for Clarice. When young, his parents would sometimes take him on holiday to the Harz mountain range and take pictures, including pictures of the Brocken mountain. But when they had their films developed, all pictures with the Brocken on it had "failed". But the real reason such pictures never saw daylight was because of the two large listening posts on the summit, used for espionage purposes.

On the other hand, he told her, there were things he preferred from the GDR. Free education and health services, for example. The truth, Johann rounded off, probably lies somewhere in between. It just doesn't work to suppress people, but neither does it work to give people a free hand. A government should walk the fine line between caring and allowing like a parent with teenage children.

"Is this something you have always believed, or have your own kids influenced your opinion? How old was your son August again?" Clarice asked and smiled.

"_Genau_!" Johann admitted and broke out in laughter. "You're right - partially. I've always felt this way, the comparison was new."

Hannibal had chosen a spot from where he could watch Clarice while waiting and eating without drawing notice. He registered details of her supple conversation nobody else would have noticed. What amazed him most was her relaxed and open bearing, her nifty grace and her unhampered enthusiasm. She'd grown since their last encounter. She seemed at ease. Was this her normal behavior now, or did her companion inspire it?

"_Ober_!" he called gently.

"_Bitte_?"

"I'd like a coffee now," Hannibal asked when the man had approached enough.

"Of course."

Hannibal looked in Clarice's direction again, only to find her gone from the table. The man was still there. The answer came with the next thought: she could not have left in the brief time he had looked away and the lavatories were not far away from her table. He settled back a fraction of an inch and waited for his coffee.

.

Hannibal dialed the number of Clarice's hotel and asked for her room. He was put through without further ado.

"Hello?" her voice spoke, slightly slurred.

"Good evening, Clarice. Had I known you were this tired, I would not have called," Hannibal said. He was looking at her window, her lights were still on.

A delightful silence followed but Hannibal could hear her breathing. A measure too fast, but not worrisome.

"I'm awake now, Dr. Lecter," she said and her voice truly had more power to it, Hannibal noted with satisfaction.

_Is __my __voice __that __uplifting? __Will __you __ever __fall __asleep __to __the __sound __of __my __voice?_

"Good. Does eating make you drowsy, Clarice?"

"Only if I eat too much, Doctor. I don't consider a salad and salmon eating to excess."

"Aren't you forgetting dessert, Clarice?"

"Definitely not, Doctor. I didn't have dessert," Clarice said. She waited a split second before she continued, "And neither did you." She drank in the small victory. She could hear Hannibal's breath now. Slow, deliberate.

"Then what _did _tire you? Your company?"

"Don't change the subject, Doctor, and that remark was below the belt, don't you agree?"

Hannibal grinned, knowing Clarice would hear it.

"You're right, Clarice. First round is yours - you spotted me."

"Damn right I did."

"Mr. Married didn't."

"Nope. But he couldn't have. He doesn't know about you, hasn't seen your pictures. Even if he had, he doesn't know you the way I do."

Hannibal could tell she was telling the truth, and he immediately completed the picture. Clarice had recognized his handiwork; hadn't told the BKA; didn't report spotting him.

_So __that's __how __life __treated __you._

"Martin."

"Did you say _Martin_, Clarice?"

"Yes, I did. His name is Martin, Johann Martin. Not _Mr.__Married_."

"All right. _Mr. __Martin_."

"Good," Clarice said. "What now, Doctor?"

"I congratulate you on your acumen, Clarice. Allow me the pleasure of hearing you call me Hannibal from now on."

"As a reward for spotting you, _Doctor_?"

"No, your station has improved. _Hannibal_ - I insist," he said.

Clarice gathered her thoughts. Oddly enough, she was enjoying the conversation. A sweet feeling flowed through her veins and nearly made her giggle.

"All right. _Hannibal_."

"Thank you, Clarice."

"You're welcome," Clarice replied. "What now, Hannibal?"

"Dinner?" he asked.

Clarice laughed.

"Dinner? Sure, why not. Your place or mine?"

"I wouldn't want to burden you with the trouble of cooking, nor will I allow it to distract me from your first visit to my dwelling place since ages. Let's decide _when_ first, Clarice. Are you free tomorrow?"

"I am."

"Shall we say 7 pm?"

"Deal."

"Corner Markgrafenstraße - Schützenstraße?"

"Hold on, I need pen and paper for that…"


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter****14**

Clarice stood fifteen minutes before the appointed time at the appointed place and waited for Hannibal to appear.

Today had been hopeless. Clarice had only two more lectures to go in Berlin and since she had decided to use old material from earlier lectures elsewhere in Europe, she didn't need to prepare for them. It would have allowed her to _cooperate_ with the BKA as much as possible. Unfortunately, the BKA had decided to redirect manpower from the Lazarus Street case to other cases. Perhaps because the case was getting nowhere near the killer in spite of Clarice's excellent advice, perhaps because the identity of the victim didn't inspire them to keep up the effort. Perhaps both reasons.

It had angered Clarice she had not been allowed by her employer to mention Hannibal's name directly, though she knew in her heart the BKA would not be able to understand and follow the lead anyway. This was out of their league. On the other hand the current state of affairs was not in her favor to wish Hannibal caught. She was sure he wouldn't betray her but who knew what the investigation of his possessions would reveal...

It had angered Clarice. Many more things had angered Clarice. But for reasons she could not or would not say, due to some strange processes in her mind, Hannibal never angered her. He probed her, tested her, encouraged her, his condescension had been irritating at times, he rallied her, tantalized her, used her. He did all of that. But he didn't anger her.

Ten minutes before the appointed time. Clarice swallowed. Would Hannibal truly show up?

At that moment, a sleek beige Lancia Thesis pulled up next to her. Its door opened and a chauffeur exited. He walked around the majestic nose of the car, lifted his hat briefly for Clarice but didn't say a word.

Clarice nodded in reply to his gesture. The man opened the back door for her. Clarice seated herself without delay. The chauffeur returned to his side of the vehicle, reseated himself and drove off slowly.

When the driver turned right for the third time, Clarice knew the chauffeur was going to turn right again at the next corner. Hannibal was probably watching the vehicle, checking for tails. She smiled at his precautions after his debacle in the restaurant. And indeed, the man turned right again and passed the spot where she'd stood minutes ago. He didn't turn right this time, but stopped halfway the next block. After perhaps a minute the chauffeur exited the car and closed the door. Clarice followed the man with her eyes as he reached the sidewalk and continued to walk. It was in the direction of the Currywurst Museum, Clarice noticed.

_Really?_

The sound of the front door opening startled her. Swiftly, she turned her head and saw Hannibal behind the wheel.

"Hello, Clarice."

"Hello, Hannibal."

It suddenly felt very weird to say his name.

"How good of you to come. Please forgive my precautions and early arrival of the car."

"That's okay. I think it's our appointed meeting time now."

"Yes, it is. Are you ready?"

"As can be."

"Okay then. It's only a small drive, I assure you. Let's get away from this horrible excuse for a museum," Hannibal said. Clarice grinned and knew Hannibal noticed.

"You know me, Clarice. I have something less banal than a _Currywurst_ from a street vendor or a mediocre _Café __und __Restaurant_ in store for you. A proper place, with real food."

"As long as it's not Hannibal's Cannibal Chow," Clarice answered and her words amazed herself.

Hannibal looked at her in the rearview mirror. The fact he did was priceless and caused Clarice some mild mirth - she'd managed to shock Hannibal. That compensated for shocking herself.

"I assure you..." he started, then fell silent. He rewarded her successful prank with a grin.

.

"No, though decent food is much to my preference and I can enjoy a well prepared meal, eating is not a goal in itself for me, Clarice. Eating is a way to achieve other goals, whether that is nourishment, revenge," and while that word traveled the distance to Clarice's ear Hannibal kept his gaze on her to capture her reaction, "socializing or some other reason."

Clarice didn't show any discomfort, only a blink of her eyes as his words settled in her mind.

_That's __odd..._

"Do you always eat like this? When you're alone, I mean?"

A gut feeling told Hannibal there might be more to the question. He didn't reply immediately. But with his phenomenal mental capabilities and his tendency not to rush conversation, his answer seemed as direct as usual.

"No, not always. In fact, I prefer to do the cooking myself," Hannibal said, and immediately continued to allow Clarice some time to think. "My specialty is authentic food. Slow food, as some say. Local, fresh ingredients, genuine recipes that were handed down generations. My biggest find here so far is a two hundred and twenty year old recipe for _Sauerbraten_ signed by Prussian king Frederick William II, known as 'The fat bastard' among his subjects."

Clarice raised her eyebrows to express her amazement at his find since she was still chewing on something.

"One doesn't prepare a dish like _Sauerbraten _just for one person, though."

Clarice was done chewing and swallowed. She took a sip of water before answering.

"I know. It's lousy cooking for one person. Recipes are always for four persons or more and you can't always just divide everything by four."

_Ah __- __you're __lonely, __and __projecting __your __feelings __on __me._

"Tell me, Clarice, what's your favorite dish to prepare?"

"You really want to know?" Clarice asked incredulous.

"I insist."

"Hm... that would be fried chicken with black-eyed peas."

"Yes?" Hannibal asked.

"Nothing fancy, really. I'm sure you already know it."

Clarice looked at Hannibal to check. She was aware his knowledge was immense but it would be a mistake thinking he was omniscient.

"Ah, you do. Well, nothing fancy, as I said. It's more in where it's from, I think, that makes it special to me."

"Southern."

"Exactly."

Clarice put another bite in her mouth, and so did Hannibal.

.

Hannibal enjoyed a port at the end of the meal, while Clarice enjoyed a coffee.

Clarice started to feel fidgety, unsure of what to do next, when she heard her cell phone buzz. She was glad to have activated silent mode since nobody would probably appreciate her ringtone here - Ardelia had set it to a recording of her, yelling "FBI!"

Clarice looked at the caller's name on the display.

_Dee. __Shit. __Now __what?_

"Do you mind?" she asked quickly.

"Not at all," Hannibal replied and motioned for her to do as she pleased. Clarice rose and walked over to a corner of the restaurant.

"Hey, Dee."

"Hey, Clarice! How are you?"

"Erm... I'm okay. Having dinner, actually."

"Dinner? Oooh... with that German guy?"

Clarice was glad she wasn't facing Hannibal.

"No. Just dinner."

"Too bad. From what you told me, he sounded like a nice guy."

"Yeah, he's nice. And married, I'm sure I told you."

"Crap, true. And as a married woman I shouldn't encourage you to try and bed him," Dee said and laughed heartily.

Clarice laughed in reply but she felt like she walked a tightrope right now. She looked back at Hannibal and saw him sitting and having a bite of something, completely at his ease. She turned back to Dee nervously.

"Well, it's a shame. It would have been a ball."

"What?"

"Thanksgiving. Will you be coming back then?"

"Probably."

"Better be sure. Henry said to ask you over. As if I wouldn't have!"

"Aw, that's sweet, Dee! Thanks. Yeah, I'll be there, sure!"

"Still, a shame. I would have liked to meet Heinrich."

"Johann," Clarice said slightly angered.

"All right. Johann. Shoot, Cee, gimme a break will you?"

"As if you know that many Germans," Clarice replied, slightly less angered this time. She focused a moment, then playfully added a line. "Remembering one name shouldn't be that hard for you - you always memorized those silly names of important cases better me."

"Rosencrantz vs. Guildenstern?"

The two women shared a moment of glee.

"Hey girl," Ardelia said, "Been nice talking to you, but I gotta run. Good to hear you're coming."

"Sure. Say hi to Henry."

"I will," Dee said. "Say hi to your date."

Clarice fell silent and a measure of angst hit her.

"I know you, girl," Ardelia continued. "You don't 'have dinner' without a date. You'd be 'eating' then. Go for it, girl! Hey, who knows, maybe you _will_ have a date for Thanksgiving?"

Ardelia laughed.

"Yeah, who knows," Clarice conceded.

"Bye, Cee."

"Bye, Dee."

As she disconnected, Clarice decided to make use of the moment and visit the bathroom. She could really use some privacy now.

.

"I'm sorry," Clarice said to Hannibal as she returned to the table. Hannibal nodded and smiled to confirm his earlier words that he didn't mind.

She remembered she hadn't finished her coffee yet.

"It had grown cold. I took the liberty of ordering a new one," Hannibal said as she reached for the cup. When her fingers made contact, she could feel the heat.

"Right," she said and nervously smiled her approval, "Thank you."

Hannibal lifted his glass of port, sniffed its contents his hands had warmed up and took a measured sip.

Clarice brought the coffee to her lips, knowing it was too hot to drink.

_What __am __I __doing?_

"Clarice?"

She opened her eyes, only realizing now she'd actually closed them. Hannibal eyed her.

"Yes?"

"Do you want me to take you back?"

She thought for a second before answering.

"I'll have this coffee first, but yes, please."

"Take your time," Hannibal stated, and gently took another sip of his port.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter****15**

Back in her hotel room Clarice sat on her bed and relived the last few hours in a rush. Sometimes she shook out of worry, at other moments she smiled.

_What __are __you __doing, __girl?_

Looking at the recent events through the eyes of her father and those of late Jack Crawford, Clarice had acted in a way she shouldn't have. In fact, it was the exact opposite of anything they'd taught her. Hannibal Lecter was an escaped, convicted murderer. A serial killer who cannibalized his victims. She, Clarice Starling, was an FBI agent who had once used his insight to capture another serial killer. She'd used him.

He hadn't used her.

_The __paths __of __our __lives __joined __once __again, __Clarice. __How __could __I __ignore __that?_

He had treated her to a fabulous meal and brought her back here, sensing her discomfort.

_Valentine __doesn't __believe __in __me. __The __FBI __doesn't __completely __trust __me, __only __as __far __as __they __can __use __me._

Clarice rose and stood as much as possible in the centre of the room - the bed was terribly in the way - and turned around without looking or seeing.

_What __will __this __all __lead __to?_

_Indulge __yourself. __The __thrill. __Your __acumen. __Me._

The thrill of his presence this evening made her smile. And she'd spotted him the day before and he hadn't noticed. And nothing bad happened. He had invited her for dinner and she had accepted. He had given her a wonderful time. And he had brought her safely back, regardless of her call with Ardelia. She was sure Hannibal knew everything he needed to know about the call.

Clarice's eyes focused and she noticed her cell phone on the desk.

_I __gave __him __my __cell __number._

She walked over to the desk, two steps, and picked it up. He hadn't called yet. She looked at the clock and noticed it had only been an hour since he had dropped her off at the hotel. It felt like ages ago.

Clarice wanted him to call. She wanted to tell him she had a great time and that she should not have answered the call in the restaurant. She wanted his number so she could call him.

_He __could __have __done __me __wrong __so __many __things, __so __many __times __and __he __didn't. __Valentine __had __one __chance __and__ he __took __it._

_Nothing __wrong __came __of __it. __Nothing __wrong __will __come __of __it. __I __hope. __I __know._

Clarice sighed.

.

Hannibal returned the Lancia to the rental office that night and went through the arduous wait for the corpulent and obviously new hire to clumsily fill out the paperwork. He made best use of the time by reliving the most noteworthy moments of this evening with Clarice.

_You __looked __like __a __sequoia __tree __on __that __sidewalk. __Strong __and __proud. __Stubborn __perhaps __even, __or __was __it __anger? __It __was __hard __to __tell __from __that __distance._

"Was the car damaged in any way?" the kid asked.

"No. Nor did I inflict damage upon the car during the time it was under my care."

"Eh?"

"No damage."

Hannibal repressed the urge to simply walk away. The car was rented under a new alias and Hannibal hadn't seen any cameras. But he knew it was better to be safe than sorry.

_You __didn't __hesitate __a __moment __when __the __driver __opened __the __door __for __you. __You __knew __exactly __what __was __going __on __and __you __went __along __with __it. __Totally, __without __looking __back, __literally __and __figuratively. __There __was __no __tail, __nor __anything __else __from __your __FBI __world __as __a __safeguard._

"Anything else we need to know?"

"No. I rented the car, drove it without incidents, am returning it."

"Right."

_You __managed __a __joke __about __cannibalism, __confident __I __would __be __able __to __take __it. __That __was __either __a __big __leap __of __faith, __or __you __know __me __even __better __than __I __realize. __Perhaps __even __more __than __you __realize __yourself?_

_And __you __ordered __for __yourself, __not __hindered __by __the __menu __in __German, __though __you __ordered __in __English._

Every aspect of Clarice's behavior Hannibal inspected showed him an independent and strong willed woman.

"Filled her back up?"

"Of course."

_Yet __you __looked __so __fragile __in __the __restaurant __during __the __call._

Hannibal hadn't been able to tell who called, though he surmised somebody close. Family was out of the question. A friend then. A good friend. Somebody still close enough to Clarice to inflict such inner turmoil.

_You __took __a __tentative __first __step __towards __me, __but __now __you're __looking __back __and __see __the __distance __you __created __and __it __scares __you. __You __have __to __look __forward, __Clarice. __At __me. __Just __a __few __more __steps._

Somebody very close whom she keeps looking for.

"Right. Guess that's it. Sign here, please," the kid concluded. He turned the paper around and carelessly offered Hannibal a pen.

Wanting to avoid touching anything this help had touched, Hannibal swiftly retrieved his own ballpoint from the inside pocket of his jacket and signed the paper with the appropriate false signature.

_You __had __been __completely __confident __of __yourself __until __you __received __that __call. __It __really __upset __you. __You __didn't __start __to __unwind __until __we __reached __your __hotel._

"Here you are," Hannibal spoke as he turned the form around again to face the kid.

"Yeah, thanks" the kid said but he didn't face Hannibal as he picked up the piece of paper and inserted it into the ring binder, "See ya."

Though extremely aggravating, Hannibal didn't even consider teaching the young man a lesson. If he did that, he'd have many more to teach. Sometimes he thought God must love stupid people to make so many of them.

_That's __where __you __returned __to __reality, __Clarice. __That's __when __your __gaze __settled __back __on__to __me __and __you __found __some __confidence __again. __And __it __appeared __to __have __been __merely __an __impulse __when __you __gave __me __your __cell __number, __not __a __planned __action. __Such __actions __speak __louder __than __words, __my __dearest __Clarice._

_You __want __me. __You __trust __me._

Hannibal left the rental office and walked half a mile to his own car, safely tucked away in a parking garage.

_We've __done __step __one __and __three. __And __it's __definitely __time __for __step __two. __The __trinket._

As he passed the booth of the parking garage he politely waved a greeting to the man inside, who returned his gesture with an affable "Jut'n Ab'n".

Hannibal decided to give Clarice a call tomorrow.

.

"No, 't was just a joke, Henry. I don't expect her to bring no man she meets in Germany for Thanksgivin' just because I ask. _Especially_ when I ask! You know how stubborn and proud she can be."

"Yeah, I know, Dee. She's one stubborn bitch."

"Hey - watch that mouth of yours!"

"No offense! You know I didn't mean it like that."

"Just cool it, baby. You're just lucky she didn't hear it herself. Your impressive muscles don't always matter, she would've whooped your ass."

"Perhaps, baby, perhaps."

"Dream on, big guy. Definitely."

"How about you give it a try?"

"Tonight, honey. Wait and see. Or, on second thought, don't see. You won't see it coming. I may be not as good as Clarice, but I think I have a surprise or two up my sleeve…"

"Hm… love it when you talk dirty, girl."

"Stop it, Henry Rollins. Reign in those horses."

"Right. For now."

"Indeed. Now, as I was saying, I invited Clarice over and I expect her to come alone."

"Right, right."

"And she'll stay with us. I didn't buy no house with a perfectly furnished basement for nothin'. She'll have her own room and bathroom and she won't be alone."

"Yes, mother," Henry joked. Ardelia's smile disappeared and she looked at him sternly.

"That ain't funny, Henry, and you know perfectly well why…"

"I… I'm sorry, Dee."

In spite of his bodybuilder physique, Henry looked like a boy who just got punished.

"We're gonna make sure she'll have one big, nice, comfy Thanksgiving. No bullshit. Okay?"

"Okay," Henry agreed.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter****16**

Clarice awoke late the next day, having at first stayed up late, unable to go to bed because of the adrenalin that haunted her. Her first _date_ with Hannibal had been exhausting and exciting at once; the thrill had the upper hand. She took a sleeping pill around two as a last attempt to find some sleep. Clarice had not expected the pill to work so it came as a surprise when she awoke and looked at the clock to see it was 11:40.

With a displeased grunt she massaged her temples, more out of habit than necessity, then got up. She didn't notice the absence of the usual forced sleep headache until she'd showered and prepared for breakfast, brunch, lunch or whatever one would call the first meal of the day at this hour. Oddly enough, her head was clear and very focused and she felt good.

After her meal she vigorously reworked two previous lectures from another country so she could reuse them here without feeling she'd cheated. She was angry at herself for considering reusing the lectures without proper editing - each country had its own specifics she should incorporate. It took her the whole afternoon before she was satisfied with the results. She could lecture without guilt now.

After a long, nice bath with luscious lavender scented soap, Clarice donned the designer dress she bought not too long ago on a whim at KaDeWe; it was the classiest thing she owned now. She hadn't forgotten to buy matching shoes. She saw it was seven o'clock and headed downstairs to have dinner in the swish restaurant around the corner to celebrate her effort.

Her appearance wasn't lost on any of the men gathered in the restaurant, whether they were in female company or not. Clarice could feel their eyes darting over her body, and enjoyed it. She was feeling decidedly cheery. She wondered if Hannibal could see her now. It would be a folly to think he was constantly following her like a stalker. The man was bound to have his own business to take care of.

The waiter was careful to take her to a table that had the best balance between showing and hiding Clarice. People outside would see her if they looked inside, but not when they merely passed by. Her presence might entice more people to enter.

While waiting for her first course Clarice noticed several men - alone, of course - looking her way every now and then, but none approached. Perhaps it was the decided look in her eyes that kept them from making their moves. It was after she finished her entree salad that a man walked in, noticed her, and strode over to her table.

"Guten Abend."

Clarice waited a second before looking up; it hadn't been her intention to play this evening but to treat herself.

"Hello," Clarice said, barely looking up.

"Ah, English," the man said.

"No, _American_."

"American? Even better! Quoting your Kennedy: _Ich __bin __ein __Berliner_. My name is Depp."

Clarice couldn't believe the audacity of the man. She looked up at him and stared him dead in the eyes.

"Depp?"

"Yes. May I..."

"Depp," Clarice interrupted him, "Some would say something like 'Nice to meet you' now. Unfortunately, I do not share that sentiment. It was and still is my intention to spend this evening and night alone. Please take a seat elsewhere in this restaurant, preferably out of my sight."

The man smiled wryly.

"Your loss," he said and walked away, upholding his pride by holding his head high like a million bucks.

Clarice could hear him mutter a few words under his breath as he left. Luckily for him she couldn't hear them, and she discarded the negative emotions that threatened to spoil her evening.

.

Back in her hotel room, Clarice checked her phone to see she hadn't missed any calls or texts. There were none. She changed into something more homey and watched some CNN on the TV. After a while she switched to BBC World News. She was glad for the foreign channels Europeans often aired.

As the clock neared ten, Clarice received a text. She read it immediately.

**One ****more ****game? ****Thrill ****and ****acumen ****will ****take ****you ****anywhere.**

Clarice smiled.

_Sure, __Hannibal. __One __more __game. __And __is __that __a __promise? __No __more __games __from __now __on?_

She replied short and simple.

**Sure**.

_I __got __your __number __now._

His answer came a minute later.

**Ballet ****had ****true ****gold ****pleasure ****in ****1983, ****but ****we're ****more ****into ****flying ****salt. ****Find ****blue ****and ****red. ****Quarter ****to ****twelve ****tomorrow?**

That didn't immediately make sense, but Clarice was confident she'd decipher Hannibal's clues. Another brief reply followed.

**You ****bet.**

As her phone confirmed the text had been sent, Clarice scrolled back to Hannibal's instructions to read them again, but a knock on her door sounded.

"_Frau_ Starling?"

"Yes?"

"A delivery for you."

Clarice instantly knew Hannibal was behind this - too much of a coincidence. She went over to the door and opened it. She recognized the young man at the door.

"I had to give you this," he said slightly accented, and handed her a small box, wrapped up nicely.

"Thank you," she answered, and reached out for the box.

"_Bitte __sehr_," he said and turned to leave.

Back inside, she opened the box and found a small ruby pendant on a fine gold necklace inside. A nice trinket but not overly conspicuous.

She was still admiring it when she received another text.

**Since ****you're ****able ****to ****spot ****me ****and ****my ****6'7", ****440 ****lbs ****and ****red ****hair ****easily, ****as ****you ****recently ****proved, ****please ****wear ****this ****to ****even ****the ****odds ****for ****me...**

Clarice snorted.

_Smart __ass._

Her reply was quickly composed.

**It ****was ****the ****white ****rose ****boutonnière ****that ****gave ****you ****away ****last ****time. ****Lose ****it ****and ****I ****won't ****be ****able ****to ****ever ****find ****you ****again.**

His answer came back soon.

**In ****that ****case, ****I'll ****wear ****it ****from ****tomorrow ****until ****eternity.  
**

Clarice laughed softly. She didn't notice the slight blush on her cheeks.

_But __now, __Hannibal, __your __clues. __What __does __it __mean?_

She read the message again and opened her laptop to search the internet.

.

Clarice parked her rental car as soon as she saw the sign of the marina.

_Bingo._

The ruby pendant moved and twisted as she picked up her bag from the passenger seat and exited the vehicle. A constant reminder of the man she was about to meet. Again. And again, she was relaxed and nervous at the same time.

_Teach __us __to __care __and __not __to __care, __teach __us __to __be __still._

She walked along the fence towards the entry gate. It was closed and not really inviting to try and open it. Looking at the name of the marina, she knew she'd found the right spot. _Yachthafen __Blau-Rot_. The words _blau_ and _rot_ were even in their respective colors, to make things easier for her as a foreigner. When Clarice took another hesitating step forward and quickly glanced around out of habit, she noticed someone along the road. She turned her head further to see, and recognized Hannibal. She turned to face him as he approached her.

_Is __that __a __grin __on __your __face? __What __- __because__ I __am __wearing __your __pendant?_

Hannibal stopped a pleasing small step within her personal space.

"Hello, Clarice. So glad you could make it."

"Hello, Hannibal. Yes, I made it. Thank you for the rental car."

"Ah well, German public transport is outstanding but a car suits you better."

"My American preference for four wheels and independence?"

"Four wheels - yes. Independence - no. Providing you with a rental car doesn't compound with that, does it?"

"Nope," Clarice said, and smiled. "Where's the rose?" she asked, and pointed at his jacket.

His smile in return was a pleasure to see.

"I had to forego it, there's no buttonhole on the lapel of this jacket. Luckily, you recognized me anyway. Shall we go?"

Clarice nodded her consent.

"I've arranged for a launch and lunch. Will you accompany me aboard?"

"Yes!"

Hannibal offered Clarice his arm. She took it, feeling oddly giddy, and he escorted her further down the street.

_I __am __amazed __and __say __"yes" __to __anything __he __says._

Hannibal guided her to the boat he'd hired for the day and helped her board safely.

Once aboard, Hannibal untied the boat and steered it across the Havel river at a leisurely pace. He let Clarice, clearly not used to boats, settle in her own way. The rocking of a boat could be very perturbing to people not used to it.

He watched her inspect the boat and the surroundings briefly. He recognized the ritual as FBI. He followed her with his eyes as she put her bag in the cabin.

_Good. You're learning to let go of those superfluous habits. This wasn't according to FBI protocol, Clarice._

Then he watched her sit down on the opposite bench. As they went along he could see her unwind slowly. Sometimes she walked back inside to retrieve something - in the beginning not sure of her footing but slowly improving as they progressed.

"As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live," he said to her.

"I'm learning to live," Clarice replied after a moment's thought. Then she sighed and Hannibal waited for more, but Clarice didn't continue.

"You trust others more than yourself?" he prodded her.

"No. I trust others even less than myself," she said, her eyes fixed somewhere in the distance.

This time Hannibal waited for her to speak again.

"You trust me, Hannibal. I won't ask why, but I know you do. But it's one hell of an incentive to trust myself too."

She turned her face and looked at him.

"I'm happy to be here, Hannibal."

"But you worry about the future."

"Yes. I have only two more lectures in Berlin. After that I'm supposed to lecture at Paris till February and when that's done I'll return to the USA."

She dropped her head and looked at her feet. Hannibal did not need her to vocalize the next thought, it was clear where this was going. He waited a few moments before he made her his offer.

"I'm free, Clarice. Free to go wherever I want."

"I know. It's not you I distrust or doubt. You know I would like to keep meeting you."

"Paris is a nice city, I know a number of places you'd like."

Clarice looked up and smiled.

"I'm sure you do," she started. And, after a deep breath, she took the leap. "All right, show me. Show me your favorite spots in Paris."


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Hannibal motioned for Clarice to have a seat on one of the benches in the science fiction-like park, in spite of the cold that held Paris in its merciless claws this November. He had bought her a new coat not long after they'd met for the first time in Paris, aware of the cold that could prevail here as he noticed the mediocre quality of her coat at that rendezvous. He could see the new coat kept her decidedly warm and comfortable.

"Beautiful," said Clarice. "It really is. Who would have thought such a fabulous park could exist in the middle of... that," she added and waved with her gloved hands to the building in the background.

"Sometimes things are beautiful by themselves, but comparison to other objects makes them stand out even more. Funny thing is, if something's truly beautiful it doesn't matter if the other objects are good looking or absolute horrors. Beauty is a thing in itself."

Clarice gave this some thought; she'd always thought uglier things were mandatory to that purpose.

"Imagine this place surrounded by buildings as on Boulevard Hausmann. Would that make this place less or more beautiful? Would it distract or supplement?"

Clarice looked around and imagined what Hannibal described.

"I see," she said after a moment of consideration. "Yes, it would make the park even more attractive."

"Shall we go?" Hannibal asked, "I've got a vacuum flask of hot cocoa in the car."

Laughter made him look at her.

"I'm sorry, Hannibal. I'm just used to the word thermos. Vacuum flask sounds so... laboratory."

Hannibal grinned and spoke. "There's nothing laboratory about my cocoa..."

"All right then. Let's go. Through Paris in a sportscar."

.

"It has been a pleasure working with you. I mean, it was good to have you around to ask your _opinion_."

Johann smiled a halfhearted smile as he made the lame joke. He was sorry for how she'd been treated by both her boss and the BKA. She would have made a difference. He shook her hand.

"I had a wonderful time too, Johann."

Knut was standing next to Johann, ready to bid her farewell. Clarice released Johann's hand and turned towards his colleague, extending her arm for another handshake.

"Bye, Knut. Good luck."

"You too, Clarice. Take care."

Next in line was the young woman who'd recently been added to the team. Clarice didn't particularly like the girl, but not saying goodbye was a bridge too far.

"Bye, Jana."

"Bye, Clarice. Wow - that's a nice thing!"

Jana was looking and pointing at her ruby pendant.

"Thank you. It was a gift from... a good friend."

"I wish my boyfriend would give me something like that!" Jana said and rolled her eyes. Apparently her guy wasn't the man for such presents.

A short silence followed until Johann said he'd help her to the door.

.

"My plane flies this Friday," Clarice spoke solemnly.

Hannibal could sense the woman next to him wasn't done talking yet. He remained quiet and waited for her to proceed. Clarice gathered her thoughts - she tried to, at least - and for a moment wondered where this all was going to end. A slight shiver went down her spine.

"I'll be staying at Dee's place. She specifically invited me over."

She looked out of the window as she spoke.

"I guess she's just being the friend she's always been. Or surrogate mother, I sometimes think."

She turned and faced Hannibal.

"What will you do?"

"Stay here. Unless you want me there with you."

Clarice's eyes clouded over.

"I don't think that's a good idea," she finally said. "You might get caught. Or worse. Besides, I'll be back in three weeks time."

"You know how to reach me."

"Yeah, but don't you count on it," she said and smiled wryly.

"That's gonna be the end of me," Hannibal replied, and smiled widely. "I'm not strong enough..."

"When I return I'll put the broken pieces back together..." was the wicked reply.

.

"It was _wunderbar_. It does me pain to see you go."

Clarice sat in Martha's office in the chair opposite of her. She had to suppress a smile but the woman's English was terribly funny.

"I assure you it has been a pleasure for me as well. I'd loved to remain here longer."

"And the students were very happy with you too!"

Martha rose, retrieved a small gift from her bag and handed it to Clarice.

"A gift from the the University."

"Really?" Clarice asked in surprise and Martha nodded. She unwrapped it and inside was a fragment of concrete.

"They sell this in souvenir shops, say it is part of the _Mauer_ that separated West Berlin from the GDR. I think it is not true, but I want you to have it and think of it as a symbol of no borders between us."

"Aw... that's sweet, Martha. It really is!"

Clarice rose too and hugged the big, friendly woman.

"How are you holding on?" she then asked.

"It goes," Martha replied and sighed. "I miss my husband terribly. But you know that."

Martha's husband, an officer in the army, had been killed in action some weeks ago.

"I don't know how I... _es schaffe_... manage," Martha said, grasping for the right words in English.

Clarice nodded and hugged her again for support.

.

"On the rooftop with Quasimodo," Hannibal said.

"What?"

"On the..."

"No, I heard you. What do you mean?" Clarice sighed, her breath a vapor in the cold air.

"You never heard of Quasimodo?"

"Nope."

Hannibal was astonished. Surely every girl was familiar with the hunchback of Norte Dame?

"He's the protagonist in a story by French writer Victor Hugo about a hunchback living in the Notre Dame, who finds sanctuary in an unlikely love."

"Well, you're no hunchback, Hannibal," Clarice teased, "and you don't live here either. The unlikely love - now that sounds more like it..."

Clarice took a step back from the parapet. She almost bumped into a man behind her. After giving him a dirty look over her shoulder that made him move she turned back and looked at the Île-de-Paris in front of her. They'd climbed the Notre Dame cathedral and were enjoying the view.

"I'm amazed many of your favorite spots are familiar tourist attractions."

"Why is that?"

"I had imagined you, out of principle, would dislike and avoid anything so… obvious and ordinary? When I tried to get a picture of your preferences I found high-end goods. If you ask people what they know about Paris, they say the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre. We visited both."

"And you don't see how they might please me?"

"Well, no."

"The Eiffel Tower was subject of controversy before and during its construction. It wouldn't be feasible and it would blemish the untouched beauty of Paris. But many protesters changed their minds when the tower was built. It's a striking piece of structural art."

"And the Louvre?"

"The Louvre holds a magnificent collection of art. Regrettably, most only know about the Mona Lisa but I assure you the shadow of Venus de Milo is as breathtaking. However, it's the recent renovation and additions that captivate me most. A highly sensible solution to the logistic problems of the almost Gordian knot the Louvre was.

"Okay, I understand your fascination with the Eiffel Tower," Clarice said and turned towards Hannibal, "but the Louvre's still not really clear to me. I understand the art but the other part went by me."

"That's okay, I'll try to explain," said Hannibal and mirrored her move. "You remember the shape of the Louvre - a big 'U'. Before the renovation you had to walk the length of the three sides of the building if you wanted to go from one side to the other. The subterranean addition in the courtyard shortens routing immensely without altering the appearance of the original building. The new glass and steel pyramid doesn't conflict with the old ornate building."

"Ah, yes. Damn, that's clever."

Clarice turned back to admire the view. Hannibal looked at her for a moment more to memorize her profile with backlight sun, then turned too.

Paris was a good place to be.

.

"Mrs. Marleen?"

"Ms.," said the woman sitting behind the desk. "Ms. Lilian Marleen. But everybody calls me Lili. You must be Clarice Starling."

"Yes. Em... Lili Marleen?" asked Clarice as she shook hands with her contact at the Institute of Applied Human Sciences of the Paris-Sorbonne University who had risen to greet her.

"Yes, as the song," Lili said and her whole countenance spoke of her good-humored spirit. "My father loved it and my mother allowed him to name me after her."

"That's nice. Do you like the song?"

"It's okay. So, Clarice - is it okay if I call you Clarice? - would you mind an extra meeting with the students tomorrow?"

"Clarice is fine. Is it just a meeting? Not a lecture?"

"No, not a lecture!" said Lili and laughed, "I would never ask you that!"

"Well, you never know. I've had some strange requests these last months."

"I won't ask you the impossible or anybody. Well, only of my students and children."

Clarice smiled. She liked Lili's sense of humor.

"I'm thirsty," said Lili, "I need some water. Would you like something to drink? We have a water cooler a few rooms further, and a coffee machine. We also use the room to chat."

"Yes, I'd like some coffee."

"All right," said Lili and proceeded before Clarice.

.

"If I tell Dee about this place, she'd take the first plane to Paris and spend her month's salary..." sighed Clarice as she looked at the magnificent glass and steel dome of the elaborate Galeries Lafayette. "She's a real shopaholic."

Hannibal immediately knew the truth she meant to say by replacing with opposites: if Dee was a shopaholic, Clarice was not. Which matched with everything he already knew of her: used to very limited resources throughout her life until she got her job at the FBI with decent pay. But by then she had developed a certain mindset that did not allow for crazy just-because expenditures.

She did accept gifts. That was a good sign. Sometimes people embraced their poverty to such a degree they were no longer able to seize an occasion to escape it.

"I suggest we have something to drink before we start browsing?"

"Sounds good. It's damned cold outside!"

Hannibal grinned at Clarice's explicit language in this posh place. He led her to one of the bars on the sixth floor.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

"I'm totally diggin' this!" said Clarice, "This place is huge - four floors of only women's clothing!"

Hannibal smiled at the almost childlike reaction by Clarice.

"I don't know where to start!"

"Then I suggest…"

"Figure of speech, Hannibal. Come, let's go to the fourth floor and work our way down."

"As you please."

Clarice marveled at the sheer size of the department store. Hannibal had said he'd treat her, but keeping him to his word would be unwise. How could she ever explain a sudden expansion of her wardrobe with all sorts of fancy things? Going for quality over quantity was the only solution. She knew he'd agree and had surely thought of that himself also.

She amazed herself the way she took to Hannibal. Who would have guessed she would feel most at ease with this man and allow him to guide her? He knew most of her world and was giving her a glimpse of his. His riches and his pleasure in spending the money, whether on himself or her.

Clarice strolled through the coats department on the fourth floor. The new coat he'd already bought her would make the acquisition of another one an unwise decision but Clarice loved to browse. She slowly proceeded until she entered the leather department. With a mischievous mindset she went over to some leather pants and started to look for one her size. She could _feel_ Hannibal's eyes on her. She turned, holding a pair in her hands, and eyed him.

_Can he truly not see I'm joking? _

"I'm going to try these on. Do you see any fitting rooms?"

Hannibal answered without searching, nodding his head to his left.

"Over there, around the corner."

"Thanks," she said and smiled after noticing the playful glint in his eyes, indicating he knew she was kidding. "Be right back."

And with his eyes still burning in her back she walked to where he'd indicated. She decided to finish the prank to the end. And as she walked she saw lingerie on the floor below.

_This is going to be good…_

.

"Three weeks, Hannibal. Sounds longer now."

Clarice sat in the passenger seat of Hannibal's Audi S8. He had just parked his car in the Terminal 1 drop-off parking at Paris-Charles de Gaulle airport and Clarice didn't want to leave yet. He had insisted on taking her to the airport, she told him he should only drop her off. Better safe than sorry with all the cameras everywhere. She was having second thoughts now - it would have been nice to wave goodbye properly.

"I am going to miss you."

Hannibal smiled encouragingly.

"Why's life so complicated?"

"It's as complicated as you make it," he replied.

"I won't simply disappear, Hannibal. I told Dee I'd come. And I need to go."

Hannibal nodded, indicating he understood.

"You know how to reach me."

Clarice sighed and smiled.

"Yeah. Gotta go now."

She turned in her seat towards him. As she sat and watched him, her lips slightly parted. In a slow and deliberate movement, she closed the distance between them and let her lips touch his. Passion arose deep inside her. She released Hannibal before it would overwhelm her, and got out.

"Bye."

She retrieved her baggage from the trunk and without a further glimpse she walked towards the entrance of the terminal.

"Arrivederci Clarice," said Hannibal as she entered the building.

Inside, still warm from the kiss, Clarice decided to simply go through check-in and passport control and ignore all shops along the way, knowing she now owned items of higher quality any shop here could ever offer.

She did marvel at the remarkable escalators suspended over the central court as she ascended to the fourth floor and remembered she'd seen them before on the Alan Parsons Project I Robot album cover. She was sure she still had that album somewhere.

"Ouch!"

Clarice dropped her bag in pain. The man who'd driven his roll along into her calves only looked at her briefly before looking away again, not even bothering to apologize.

_I can't believe this!_

"Well, excuse you!" she exclaimed.

He completely ignored her, which infuriated her only even more. She picked up her bag and walked into the man's sight.

"You hit me!" she said, but before she could continue he tried to shoo her away with a broad sweep of his arm.

_What the hell?_

She grasped his arm and pulled it down, slightly twisting it. It was only a slight movement, nothing conspicuous, but the man would feel it. And he did. With a yelp, he looked at her, amazed.

"I said: you hit me. And when you hit someone, you apologize."

"_Que fais-tu? Je ne comprend pas._"

"Seriously? You think acting you're French is going to help you? You know, the guide you're holding is in English and I know it's also available in French. So, either you're too stupid to chose a guide in your own language or you're plain rude. I think it's the latter."

Clarice gave his hand another twist, knowing it would hurt him. And judging by his face, it did - the man was too shocked to scream but his eyes cried out.

"And don't do it again," she said dead serious as she left, feeling unusually satisfied. She could hear the man mutter "_What's your problem, bitch?_" but knew better than to face him again. She had her revenge and that was enough.

She took a place on a bench and retrieved a book from her bag to read. Two hours to kill before United Airlines would take her to Washington-Dulles.

**.**

Clarice's plane took off with a delay of ten minutes. It seemed to match Clarice's hesitancy to leave Paris, to leave Hannibal.

Due to the time difference, she was going to have a 30-hour day. But taking a nap on a 12:25 flight that was expected to land after a good eight and a half hours of flight was rather useless. Clarice retrieved her book from her bag again to read.

Unfortunately, the book did not bring the relief she had been hoping for. Truth was, the visit with Ardelia and Henry was not something she was entirely looking forward to. Dee was her best friend, no doubt about that. And they'd shared a lot. But this… thing, her _involvement_ with Hannibal was something she'd have to keep secret. And she wasn't sure how good she'd be at fooling Dee.

_Dee won't expect me to bring anybody but she will ask me if I met someone, if only for a night._

She smiled at her next thought.

_Though not with Henry within hearing range_.

Clarice forced herself to pay attention to what she was reading but even this Bernie Gunther book couldn't hold her attention right now and her thoughts started to wander off after perhaps two lines.

_What are you doing, girl? What is it with Hannibal?_

She realized that was the bottom line. What had made it possible for her to… do the things she did? She had been fine alone and one day, all of a sudden, she found herself falling in love with a serial killer she'd met in the past who murdered a guy in Germany and made the scene look like a well-known picture.

_Who truly ordered Crawford to have me lecture in Europe, and why?_

She'd tried to solve that problem ever since the day Crawford had given her the letter to read. She knew the bastard who'd written the letter wasn't the real malefactor, but she didn't know everybody up on the executives floor anyway. But there was someone…

_Or should I put that in plural?_

…who wanted me from the Lecter case.

Clarice closed the book but kept her index finger at the current page.

_Screw this. Some shit or couple of shits - Crawford didn't know either._

The thought of the late Crawford brought a jab of pain to her heart. The first death in her life that mattered since her father. She had been furious with Hannibal when he'd asked her if she thought Crawford perhaps visualized scenarios fucking her - he was too much a father to her for that to enter her, or his, mind. She now realized the symmetry in the comparison. Hannibal had said Crawford had helped her and he had helped her. He suggested Crawford might have helped her for… transactions and asked if she knew why he'd helped her. He had said he had helped her to obtain a view, but wasn't the symmetry indicating he was actually the one doing the visualization?

_You're one sly guy, H._

Valentine's dismissal of her theory had been the drop that flooded the bucket.

That had been the start of the understanding she wasn't the team player they wanted. They needed her at BSU but didn't want her to lead it. That's when she'd decided to do her job and nothing more, and she had been told her job was to lecture, not to catch Hannibal Lecter.

That had been the start of her new mindset. In the days after the scorching by Valentine, Clarice realized she was happier chasing Hannibal for her own benefit than the FBI's. It was while reading Hannibal's letter that she realized it.

Indeed, nobody had ever called her a ruby.

Nobody had ever loved her the way he loved her.

And she had never loved anybody the way she loved him.

And now she, an FBI agent, was on her way to Dee, another FBI agent, to celebrate Thanksgiving and pretend as if nothing had happened while in fact her whole world had turned upside down.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

"Clariiiiiiice! Over here!" Dee yelled but to her frustration the glass separation between the hall where she stood and the baggage claim area rendered her call useless. She pounded her fists on the glass, hoping Clarice would hear her. Unfortunately, she didn't. And adding to Dee's dismay, Clarice didn't search the crowd well enough to see her. So when Clarice finally made it through the sliding doors, Dee practically threw herself at Clarice and welcomed her with a big hug and a foul mouth, cursing her for her inattentiveness.

"Finally, girl! You blind and deaf or something? I was rappin' and dancin' and you didn't see shit like a zombie! What's the matter - you in _love_ or something?"

Clarice blushed. "Oh Dee, I'm sorry, really. Had a long flight and a lot of turbulence. I'm happy to see you!"

They hugged again.

"Yeah, good to see you too, Clarice. Good to have you back, if only for three weeks. I've got something special planned for you!"

"What?"

"Ha! I ain't gonna tell you now. Wait and see, okay? Is that all the bags you have?"

"Yup. Just this. If it's not enough, I'll get some clothes from home."

"No you don't! I especially invited you over so you wouldn't have to be home alone. If you need anything, we'll buy it, okay? My home will be your five-star hotel!"

"That's nice, Dee," Clarice said. She didn't add she'd seen more than enough hotels the last few months.

"And what's this, Cee? Oooh - fancy necklace! Paris?"

"Erm... no, Berlin actually. There's some fancy shops there you wouldn't believe!"

"What is it?"

"A ruby."

"Hell yeah!"

"Yeah," Clarice grinned, secretly relieved. It was only half the truth she'd spoken. Berlin had fancy shops, she just hadn't bought the trinket. "You really not gonna tell me what you got planned?"

"No. Wait and see, okay?"

The two women walked through the main terminal, speaking animatedly, Dee mostly. They had no eyes for the graceful beauty of the famous building designed by architect Eero Saarinen. They loaded Clarice's stuff in the trunk and stepped inside the car. Dee started the engine and turned on the radio. The music blared through the car and Dee quickly turned the volume down to a level to allow for conversation.

"Sorry, they had a good song on the way over here."

Clarice laughed.

"You never change, do you?"

"Nah, why should I? Everything's fine as it is, right?"

Clarice turned her head in a reflex, as if avoiding the question and immediately registered she shouldn't have, but she quickly recovered her wit. "Fine? We live in a BEAUTIFUL WORLD!" she loudly blared along with the song on the radio, and laughed.

"YEAH, we DO," Dee accompanied her, just as loud and even more out of tune than Clarice.

The two laughed like crazy and Dee had to pull herself together before driving off. Clarice's laughter died away also. She sighed and settled back in her seat.

As Dee drove and talked Clarice watched a train and heard it whistle, its cars like dancers in line. For fun, she held her breath as long as possible.

_I wonder what happens next._

.

"You hungry? Don't tell me you ain't hungry," said Ardelia as she parked the car. "What they serve on flights is terrible. Don't tell me you actually ate it, okay? You need some good old fashioned home cooking, you had a long flight and need to eat properly. And I intend to make sure you do."

"I had something to eat with me," Clarice said, "but that was some time ago."

_Half the truth again. Hannibal provided it. _

To her relief, Dee didn't seem to notice her half lies.

They exited the vehicle and Clarice retrieved her things from the trunk. Dee took one of her bags from her even though Clarice motioned that wasn't necessary. They walked over to the door.

"But what do you expect when it's meals that only need to be heated? It's not as if there's a chef on board with a fully equipped kitchen."

Ardelia turned her head to Clarice.

"Don't tell me you dined at some fancy restaurant over there?"

Clarice smiled and Ardelia figured she'd had a… night to remember.

"The night you called me to invite me for Thanksgiving," Clarice explained while they approached the house.

Ardelia unlocked the front door. "You were having dinner at some classy place?"

"Yes."

"Alone?"

"Dee!" Clarice protested.

"Hey, I need to know who's dating my girl! Gotta keep an eye on her, you know…"

"Aw, Dee, cut the crap, will you," said Clarice as she hung her coat. "So I wasn't alone. No need to bother you with his name and no, I didn't want to bring him along. Satisfied?"

"All right, but only for now. You'll have to confess ALL your new adventures sooner or later!"

"Deal. But how about some of that yummy smelling food right now? You're right, I could use something wholesome."

They put Clarice's bags on the floor and continued down the hall towards the kitchen. Ardelia supposed her guest was a bit cranky from the long flight. She'd give her a decent meal and allow her a good night's sleep after that.

"Where's Henry?" Clarice asked her as she turned on the stove to reheat the meal she'd prepared earlier.

"At work, some project needs to be finished. He's been working extra hours for the last two weeks."

"Balls."

"Yeah. That's what you get when you're that good - you get to clean up other people's shit."

Ardelia noticed Clarice suppressing a yawn. She suggested she watch some TV while everything warmed. Clarice said she would, and left the kitchen.

Ardelia went to work and prepared the meal in record time. With a grin she thought Gram would not have approved such abuse of her recipe. Gram never made anything that took less than half an hour to prepare. She put everything on the kitchen table, then went to get Clarice. To her surprise, Clarice hadn't fallen asleep, but was texting.

"Hey, dinner's ready."

"Oh, great! I'm almost done, okay?"

Ardelia nodded and returned to the kitchen.

"Don't forget to wash your hands," she said when Clarice entered the room again. Her friend smiled.

"Yes, mother."

"Good girl."

Clarice washed up and joined Ardelia at the table. Ardelia said grace, then helped Clarice to a decent serving.

"Here you go, girl."

"Thanks, Dee."

.

Clarice didn't sleep as well as she'd hoped. Though dog tired from the flight and in need of a good rest, her emotions had given her a disturbed night. Last night she couldn't help herself and texted Hannibal to let him know she was okay and at Dee's. He'd answered her and told her to enjoy her time, and that they'd meet again. Clarice read his words a number of times before finally falling asleep.

She looked at the clock and decided to get showered and dressed in spite of the early hour. Perhaps a nice hot shower would bring some comfort. Ardelia had made sure to supply the room in the basement with everything Clarice would need, from fresh towels to a new toothbrush. She'd even included a box of tampons.

In spite of Ardelia's amenities, Clarice used the Guerlain shower gel Hannibal had bought her. Its lovely scent filled the bathroom as Clarice took her time to wash up and clear her mind.

After getting dressed, Clarice headed upstairs to the kitchen. She was surprised to see Ardelia already up, though still in her nightgown.

"Mornin', Clarice."

"Good morning, Dee. What's up?"

"Nothing special. Henry just left for work. I fixed breakfast for him and sat with him while he ate… What's that you're wearing?"

"What?"

"Leather pants?"

"Something wrong with that?"

"No, nothing, I guess. I never saw you in leather pants before. It's… something new."

"Well, I'm not yet fully accustomed to them either, but they _are_ very comfortable. You should try some yourself."

"You think so?"

"And Henry would love it, I'm sure…"

"Clarice!"

"He would, really! I know he adores you and you don't need to spice things up, but I'm sure he would enjoy the sight of you in pants like these."

"You sure?"

"Definitely! "

"All right, maybe I will. I hope they look as good on me as they do on you."

"That's a matter of buying the right size and fit."

"True. Now, you want something to eat?"

"Yes, please."

Ardelia prepared breakfast for both of them, something they'd concocted the first year they shared rooms: French toast with grape jelly and Froot Loops.

"For old times' sake," said Dee as she handed Clarice her plate and coffee.

"Yeah. Never understood why we liked this so much back then."

"I believe it has something to do with age…"

Clarice snorted. "Yeah, and lack of funds."

Ardelia smiled. "Good thing we passed that station."

"Yeah!"

"Well, let's not let it grow cold," Dee said. She bowed her head for a silent prayer and they started to eat.

"Well, I've had worse," Clarice stated after two bites.

"Me too. I can actually keep it down…" Dee replied, sharing an old joke. They shared a modest moment of glee.

After finishing their plates they sat back in their chairs and relaxed, drinking the rest of their coffee.

"You missed Halloween."

"As if I was going to dress up."

"No, probably not. But I thought you might like some compensation, and sniff some real witchcraft. Monday we fly to Massachusetts for a 'Witch Tour' I booked."

"A witch tour?"

"Yeah, we'll spend a week visiting Salem and other places where the witch trials took place."

"I never knew you were that interested in that?"

"I wasn't, but a niece of mine did the tour some months ago and she came back with these interesting stories about white people being afraid to be arrested or murdered, kinda like what we black folk experienced in the past."

Clarice looked at Dee incredulously. "You serious?"

"Nah, just kidding," Dee chuckled. "Well, not completely. My niece did go and was impressed."

"You sly, malicious hellcat!" exclaimed Clarice, borrowing a phrase from her long gone father.

Ardelia smiled slyly. She was sure it would be a great week with just the two of them.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

On Monday, Ardelia and Clarice flew to Massachusetts, where they landed at Bradley International Airport just before noon. They used public transport to get to Springfield, where they met tour leaders Giles and Martha and the rest of the company at the hotel. Everybody had gathered there throughout the morning, they were the last to arrive. The tour would start that afternoon, right after a shared lunch.

Clarice was amazed by the size of the group and the age of the participants. She'd never thought witches would be such a popular theme for a tour, but the group consisted of over 25 people and of all ages. She'd always thought tours were for older people. A look at the individual participants taught her there was no apparent specific audience for this tour. There were a number of contemporary Wiccans, all easily recognizable by their jewelry, a few of them through their distinct clothing, mostly shades of gray. Their reasons for taking this tour were evident, it was almost a mission for them. The rest of the group consisted of people of various ethnic backgrounds, ages and sex in who Clarice could find no common divisor, so Dee and she blended in quite well.

"Good afternoon," Giles addressed the company after they'd seated themselves at their designated tables. "We all met as you arrived, but let's do a bit of formal introductions. My name's Giles Corey and this is my wife Martha, your tour leaders. Just call us Giles and Martha, as long as you call me Giles and her Martha."

A gentle laughter followed the joke.

"We'll be showing you the sites where the most important seventeenth century New England witch trials took place, where the people involved lived, the courthouses, the works. With groups as our current one, there's always a big difference in the interests. We'll tell you the most important facts and some fun trivia throughout the tour since everybody likes that. For those of you who would like to know more, we've put together a guidebook that you can read whenever you feel like it. We'll discuss the tour details after lunch, and answer any questions you might have. As long as they concern the tour…"

Giles looked at his wife, who took the cue.

"But before we begin," spoke Martha, "with lunch - which will be served in a minute - I'd like to get to know you all a bit, and it would be nice if you all would get to know each other. How about I point at someone, and you give us your name and why you're here?"

Looking over her reading glasses, Martha looked at the first table and pointed at the old man seated there.

"Yes, let's start with you, sir."

The man cleared his throat nervously before speaking, and wrung his napkin. It was obvious he wasn't accustomed to speaking in public.

"I'm William Griggs, from Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania and I'm here with my grandson Benjamin. At school…"

After William, everybody had their turn. Clarice was feeling slightly awkward she'd have to say her presence wasn't a deliberate choice because life was all about such choices to her. She was glad Ardelia was asked to speak first and she explained the situation perfectly. With all her insight, Clarice didn't see it wouldn't have mattered if she had been first to speak; the others would have accepted being invited as a fair reason to be on the tour with them.

After everybody had introduced themselves, Martha thanked them and ordered lunch to be served.

Clarice was glad for some food; she could feel a headache developing. She had slept, courtesy of the sleeping pills, but it had been a restless sleep. Waiting for the waitress she swiftly looked at her cell phone to see if perhaps there was a text.

.

"Springfield is where America's first accusation of witchcraft took place, and a peculiar accusation it was. In 1645, husband and wife Hugh and Mary Parsons accused each other of witchcraft..."

Giles dropped a short silence to allow his words to sink in. Ardelia noticed he did that often, especially after jokes. It was clear he did this tour often and knew exactly what he had to say, and when. Yet he knew how to stay motivating and inspiring. The group followed his lead blindly.

"Mary, who'd been abandoned by her spouse and subsequently wed Hugh Parsons, bore her new husband three children. Two of these died in their first year. These tragedies drove her into a mental breakdown. She accused a woman named Marshfield, who'd recently moved to Springfield, of witchcraft. However, a magistrate found Mary guilty of slander and sentenced her to be whipped or pay Mrs. Marshfield twenty-four bushels of corn."

Ardelia's eyes wandered over the tour group as she listened to Giles' account. Always aware of people close by, she subconsciously took them all in, her mind looking for deviations and signs of trouble. She would never consider such an act normally, being part of the group and while on holiday, but her trained mind followed its own course.

"Not the most renowned and beloved person in town, Hugh Parsons got enraged by the verdict and made threatening comments. The community believed these comments diabolically devised and Hugh and Mary felt humiliated by a community that had never accepted them anyway in those hopeless days."

Clarice was wearing the leather pants again today and Ardelia still wasn't completely happy with the idea. But she wouldn't tell her. She owed her companion that liberty. And besides, there was more than these curious pants that felt different in Clarice.

"Hag-ridden Mary turned on her husband, blaming him and accusing him of witchcraft, claiming he caused the death of their children while under satanic influence. His trial and her derangement influenced the townspeople, who soon claimed to see strange phenomena."

Ardelia noticed some slightly deviating behavior, some mannerisms she's not seen before. Slight things only and it didn't alarm her, but she did notice it and she did think about it. Her more than usual attachment to the cell phone. Moments of staring into the big unknown. Slightly chirpy behavior she hadn't displayed before.

"Worst of all, it was during this process that Mary's third child died, only five months old. Mary now lost track of the narrow path and lost her sanity completely and declared she'd practiced witchcraft and killed her own baby."

Clarice texted Hannibal a short message.

_You would dig this tour - witchcraft, insanity and moral panic._

"Hugh and Mary were sent to Boston for trial by the General Court. Both Hugh and Mary were acquitted. Hugh moved and remarried, but Mary was found guilty of murdering her child and sentenced to hang. Ill and insane, Mary died in prison before her death sentence was carried out."

While her mind was trained to spot anomalies, it was also conditioned by the past. Ardelia's closeness with Clarice created a blind spot. She noticed differences in her companion, but her mind whittled them away.

"What most people don't realize is that magic in itself was a normal part of everyday life back then. Witches were often called to help, along with religious ministers. When something went wrong, the question wasn't whether magic was used, but if it had been intended to inflict harm or not! Magic or witchcraft became evil if it had worked effectively for the wrong reason."

She knew how deep Crawford's death affected Clarice, she was fully aware of the tensions she experienced at work and she knew how long Clarice already had been abroad lecturing involuntarily. She could only contribute Cee's chirpiness to a degree of denial. It hurt to see Clarice like that and she wished she could help, but she didn't know how.

.

After Giles' monologue on Springfield's witch hunt history and Martha's tour of the town, the group was taken to the Springfield Brewery where they would have dinner.

Getting a kick out of local products and not one to pass an opportunity, Ardelia ordered a Black Sheep, the current "stand out from the flock" brew available, while Clarice ordered a no-nonsense 11 Point Pilsner. They shared a moment of silence while waiting for Giles to inform them about tomorrow's program. When he finally stood up, everybody turned to him to listen.

"After Springfield a long period commenced of vehement danger for accused witches in New England which lasted until 1663. The lesser known, but not less grave Hartford witch hunt marks this span of time. Tomorrow, the bus will take us to Hartford. Breakfast will be served at eight, the bus will leave at half past nine. Those not present will have to walk the distance…"

Giles sat down and Martha rose in reply.

"I hope he loses that stick up his ass before the tour is over," whispered Clarice to Ardelia, who promptly snorted and had to fight to keep her beer in her mouth. Luckily the others didn't notice it.

"Cee!" she rebuked in a faux angry way.

Clarice smiled sheepishly and shrugged her shoulders.

"Really, don't do that again, will you? Grow up! What's gotten into you?"

"Okay, I'll stop. Perhaps. Probably. Definitely maybe."

"Oh, just forget it. Now, what's Martha saying?"

"I don't know! You're making all this fuss, I can't hear her…" baited Clarice.

Ardelia rolled her eyes and didn't reply but turned to their guide.

"… three specials for us for a limited price and I'm sure one of them will be to your liking. And in case not - but I don't think that's gonna happen - you're free to order á la carte of course."

"Ooh goodie, special menus, my favorite!" Clarice remarked and smiled broadly.

Ardelia just sighed and kept her mouth shut.

A waiter brought them the menu. Inside they found a sheet with the specials on it.

"Hmmm… the Sheppard's Pie sounds nice," said Ardelia.

"Yeah, but I think I'm going for the Pistachio Encrusted Ahi Tuna."

"Tuna, Cee?"

Ardelia looked at her companion incredulously. She couldn't recall Clarice ever eating fish in a restaurant.

"Sure, it's got pistachios! Hey, tuna's called the steak from the sea, you know?"

"I know, I know. Okay, the tuna then."

Clarice smiled and sat back. All she needed more for a perfect time was the headache gone and Hannibal present.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

"If I can have everybody's attention, please," said Giles as the bus drove through Danvers. "Everybody, yes? Thank you. In a moment we'll arrive at the Judge Samuel Holten House and get off the bus. Be sure to take with you what you need for now because the bus will proceed to the Rebecca Nurse Homestead. We'll walk over there after visiting this house, it's not that far."

"My feet totally disagree with his definition of _not that far_," whispered a voice behind Clarice and Ardelia. The two women had to work hard to keep their faces straight. Abigail was right, though. When Giles said something was not that far, it could mean a walk of up to thirty minutes.

"Actually, I'm with Abigail," whispered Clarice to Ardelia, "I'm a runner, not a stroller and his walks are killing me! Like yesterday in Ipswich..."

"Don't exaggerate, girl. You're still young!" whispered Ardelia in reply.

Clarice shook her head. "Young perhaps, but I'm feeling old and tired and my head still hurts."

"Okay, here we are," said Giles. "Everybody out, please!"

The group exited the comfortable bus and gathered on the sidewalk next to the estate. Everybody took out their cameras and quickly took pictures of the well-preserved house. The clouded sky gave the day a gloomy appearance; a downpour threatened.

"Follow me please. They're expecting us and I think I can smell the coffee!"

Everybody followed Giles as he led them towards the house. The door opened when he was halfway and a jovial woman stood in the doorway, smiling broadly.

"Giles, good to see you again! Now, what caboodle are you bringing me this time?"

"Mary, as cordial as ever," their guide replied as he hugged the broad hipped woman. "Just a bunch of no-good hobos, as usual. You know me, always looking after the needy. Now tell me, did you make that coffee that I smell? Have you finally learned how to make a decent brew?"

"Wiseass," said Mary, who hugged Martha immediately after releasing Giles.

"Heaven forbid, Mary... heaven forbid," muttered Giles while entering the building.

.

"... and of these inhabitants," said Mary, "It was Sarah Holten whose testimony against Rebecca Nurse led to her conviction. I think Giles will take you to the Rebecca Nurse Homestead later, right?"

A few heads nodded in reply.

"Good. Now, I'm sure you'd like to see the house after all the rambling I've done. So, I'd like to thank you for your attention - especially you, young man, you've been really sweet! - and wish you a happy continuation of your tour."

Everybody applauded while Benjamin, Griggs' grandson, blushed. Ardelia did agree with Mary, he was a real sweet kid. She hadn't told Clarice yet she thought she might be pregnant. It was only a hunch but she was going to covertly buy a pregnancy test as soon as they returned home. If she was, she'd tell Clarice immediately.

The tour participants dispersed throughout the house. Mary and Martha conversed while Giles walked around to answer further questions.

Ardelia and Clarice ascended the stairs to the second floor and took a look at the various rooms there.

"My god, what a house!" said Ardelia enthusiastically as they stood on the landing.

"Yeah," answered Clarice.

Ardelia looked around and saw the next room. "Hey, look there! What a place… How big is this room? What, twenty by twenty feet?"

"I guess so. That's huge, eh?"

Martha had entered the room behind them and answered Ardelia's question. "It is when compared to the dwellings of the poor. It's of average size for the wealthy. I've got some pictures of several seventeenth century houses in the next room that'll show what I mean. Follow me."

Ardelia and Clarice nodded and followed Mary into the next room. There, the woman from DAR retrieved a book and showed the two some pictures of old residences nearby, mostly Salem, where exceptionally many colonial houses survived. Ardelia was very delighted to see the pictures and Mary talked freely.

Clarice browsed the room after a while, having lost her interest. She watched outside and saw the black clouds still there. She turned around. Ardelia was still deeply in conversation with Mary. Clarice walked through the door next to her and found herself in a small corridor with stairs and another door.

_Hannibal would love this place._

She smiled at the thought of him by her side now; she'd love to have him next to her but Ardelia would have a heart attack! She sighed, crossed the landing and went through the other door to step into another large room, though not as large as the other one. Several others from the group were here, discussing the building and the events that had taken place here. She had a brief look around the room and the two connecting ones, then went through the main door and headed down the stairs.

On the first floor Clarice found herself in the smaller kitchen of the two. She proceeded into the entry and stepped outside to get some fresh air. Maybe that would relieve her of the incessant ache in her head, even if only for a bit.

She inhaled deeply a few times. The moldy scent of New England in November wasn't unpleasant at all, she mused. But it was warm for the time of year, she'd heard. She watched a few birds for some minutes as they searched the ground for worms or other food. Clarice's stomach rumbled somewhat as she stood in the cold. Knowing they'd visit the Rebecca Nurse Homestead first and then have lunch, she decided to eat a Hershey's now. She retrieved one from her bag and ate it where she stood.

_What would Hannibal have eaten? _She suddenly thought. _Probably a jerky. Hell, perhaps home made?_ The thought made her shudder for a brief moment, but a smile soon appeared. _One jerky for Hannibal, one jerk less in the world._ A snort of laughter followed.

_Wish you were here…_

Feeling a bit better, Clarice took one last deep breath before reentering the house. Back in the kitchen she could hear Ardelia's voice coming from upstairs, and Mary's. It didn't take long before the two women came down the stairs. When Ardelia spotted Clarice, she called out.

"Cee, there ya are! What happened that you were gone so suddenly?"

"Nothin', just needed some fresh air."

"Aw, still that headache?"

"Yeah. But I'm a bit better now."

"Good. Oh, I believe it's time to go now."

"Yes," said Mary with a peek at her watch, "Giles is probably waiting for everybody in the living room."

Mary preceded them into the next room where, true to Mary's expectation, Giles stood expectantly. Only a few tour participants were still absent. Those present chatted softly with each other.

"Giles, here's two more. How many left?"

"Eight."

"I hear movement upstairs, I think they're coming down soon."

"Okay, we'll wait."

Conversations took place in small groups, a soft murmur of voices sounded through the room. Ardelia watched Clarice as she stared out the windows, up to the clouds. She wished she could read her mind so she could know what was going on with her friend.

Ardelia's gaze followed Clarice's. Gathered clouds loomed over the city where so many women had suffered under superstition and collective mania.

Three tour members entered the room.

"Are the rest coming too?" asked Giles.

The three looked at each other an instant, one of them turned around, then faced Giles again. "Suppose so, they were behind us."

"It's time for us to go."

"There they are."

"Great. Okay. Well, Mary, thanks for everything, you're an angel."

The woman rolled her eyes in mockery. "Yeah, yeah, and you're a sly devil, that's what you are, a smooth hustler. Watch him, Martha!"

"I will, Mary. Thank you for your hospitality, as always."

"No problem. Enjoy Danvers, enjoy Salem this afternoon people!"

Everybody thanked Mary. Then Giles led them outside to walk the half mile or more to the Rebecca Nurse Homestead.

They followed Holten Street first, with beautiful trees along the road, and passed Holten Cemetery, a gloomy field with graves dispersed in an almost random way. The gray sky turned its appearance even more low-spirited.

Continuing down Holten Street they passed many houses, most in excellent state. They turned right at Pine Street. A baseball field lay deserted on their right after a number of yards. When they finally stopped, nobody could see the home.

"The home's down this track," Giles said, "200 yards only."

Ardelia could hear Griggs sigh behind her.

"Rebecca Nurse, wife of Francis Nurse, with a number of children and grandchildren, was a well-respected member of the community. And despite no credible evidence against her, she was hanged on July 19, 1692. She was then 71 years old…"

A shudder went through the whole group as they had always pictured witches as young women.

"The Nurse family had a number of disputes with the Putnam family. Rebecca was arrested based upon accusations made by two members of the Putnam family…"

Another wave of disbelief went through the company.

"Unbelievable," said Ardelia to Clarice. Her faith in law had always been absolute, her knowledge of them profound.

Clarice had always appreciated her friend's dedication. "Yeah. That's… sick. Unbelievable she was condemned."

"Remember," Giles said, "the time this all played, and the circumstances. Seventeenth century New England was very different. The first English settlers in Massachusetts, the Pilgrims, established their settlement in 1620. More Puritans followed. They came to Massachusetts for religious freedom, but created a community where only their religion was tolerated. Anybody not following the strict code was an outcast. As said, the first accusation of witchcraft was in 1645, only 25 years later! The Salem witch trials took place 72 years after the landing of the Mayflower. Which tells us Rebecca Nurse was one of the first children of the settlers to be born here."

Giles waited briefly before proceeding down the track towards the house.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Hannibal wasn't happy Germantown was this large. Because it was, it featured a number of decent stores where he could have done some shopping. Unfortunately, they were too close to Clarice's home and Ardelia's home to use. He didn't mind driving but the fact Gaithersburg was nearby was a welcome treat, he would never be too far away from Germantown, and thus Clarice.

When Clarice texted him she'd be going to Massachusetts with Ardelia, he knew it would be foolish to follow her there also, so he took advantage of the situation. He flew to New York on Monday.

After spending the last years in Europe, having studied its history, he wished to renew his acquaintance with the city from this perspective. He travelled to Bowling Green on Manhattan Island and stood at the spot where once Fort Amsterdam stood.

While many think of New York's history from the English settlement point of view, the building of this fort in 1625 by the Dutch is the recognized birth date of New York City. Hannibal recalled the original names of some well known places. Rhode Island from _Roode Eyelandt_, meaning Red Island. Coney Island from _Conyne Eylandt_, meaning Rabbit Island. Flushing from Vlissingen, a Dutch town. Wall Street from _Walstraat_.

He inhaled, but scoffed at the smells of the city that attacked his nostrils. Nothing remained of the fort anyway, so he headed off to the Southwest, crossed the road and entered Battery Park. There, on the bank of the river, feeling the wind through his hair and admiring the view, Hannibal allowed himself to fully test the air again. The salty scent of the river was almost unpolluted by exhaust fumes and other big city contamination and toxics, and therefore pleasant. He wished to experience all the input to his sensations at once and focused to refrain from purposeful thinking. He listened to the sounds of the waves, boats and whatever more, felt of the wind on his skin and through his hair, smelled, saw, tasted the slightly salty wind.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket as he received a text. He retrieved it and looked at the screen and saw a text from Clarice.

_You would dig this tour - witchcraft, insanity and moral panic._

Hannibal smiled. Though witchcraft wasn't directly among his prime interests, the often accompanying phenomena insanity and moral panic most definitely were. But of course the only way he'd ever go on such a tour would be blindfolded and bonded. For Clarice's sake he thought he'd pay the Library of Congress another visit one of these days to read up on the subject of witchcraft a bit.

The spell of meditation broken, he continued his walk. The Netherland Monument was next to visit.

.

"Shit, Clarice, this is way too much!"

"What are you complaining about? I want to buy you something for letting me stay at your place," said Clarice. She had expected Ardelia to protest. Of course she would, just like she would accept the gift after some encouragement. That's how it had always been between them.

It was Friday, their last day in Massachusetts. The tour was over and they had some hours to spend in Boston before their flight would take them back home.

"Yeah, well, I invited you, remember? You're my friend and with all this crap that has been pulled on you..."

"I know, Dee. You're... looking after me and I appreciate that. Just let me buy you this to show my appreciation, okay?"

"You're crazy, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know."

Clarice turned to the helpful shop assistant who waited at a polite distance and nodded. The man smiled and moved closer, Clarice handed him the earrings.

"An excellent choice, if I may say so. The mother-of-pearl complements your complexion perfectly. And they are lovely earrings. One moment please while I put them in a box and wrap it up."

A short silence followed the man's leaving, in which Ardelia hopped from one leg to the other and Clarice just stood regally.

"Six hundred dollars, Cee? I don't even think the engagement ring Henry bought me was that expensive!"

"Don't worry, Dee, I've got the money. Trust me."

Clarice smiled at her companion and at the same time relived the moment Hannibal had given her a credit card to use as she pleased. He had specifically added she needn't worry about a limit. The trust in his gift still pleased her greatly.

Seeing the man was nearly finished with the wrapping, Clarice slowly proceeded towards the counter to pay. Ardelia took another look at some necklaces meanwhile. While she waited, Clarice quickly texted Hannibal.

The monetary transaction complete, the man handed Clarice a shopping bag with the carefully wrapped box inside.

"Thank you for your purchase and enjoy the rest of the day."

"Thank you, we will."

The shop assistant preceded them to the door, held it open for them and added a final "Goodbye".

They exited the shop and were on Washington Street again.

"Now, what shall we do next... you hungry?" asked Clarice. "I know I am!"

.

By Friday, when he visited Washington, Hannibal was amazed to find himself longing for Clarice to return home, even if there would remain a necessary extent of space between them. It was an incessant feeling that haunted his being and for which he could find no specific inception - it was simply there. Rationalizing he tried to convince himself it started with her first visit when she stood her ground. Or perhaps it was her visit to Memphis. In the end he just had to admit he could not give the exact moment when his heart started burning in flames.

While walking through the nation's capital Hannibal recounted some of the history of the city, including John Smith's explorations of the region and his visit to the site of today's city during his first voyage. The voyage nearly ended in tragedy when Smith was wounded by a stingray. Fortunately he recovered and ate the ray for supper. Hannibal could relate to the practice of consuming one's foes.

His phone announced an incoming text. He retrieved his phone and read the message.

_Bought D earrings with the card. Nice but no match for the ruby pendant :-)_

He laughed, mused, and returned a text.

_By all means, but I hope you're using it for your own benefit as well. Something to go with the pendant, perhaps?_

.

They'd not even walked ten steps down Washington Street when Clarice's cell phone softly announced a text. She read the message and put the phone back. Ardelia noticed and thought Clarice texted more than usual, but assumed she was probably just keeping in touch with other colleagues or friends.

They passed by Tello's and Clarice looked at a display of lingerie. "Wanna go inside?" she asked.

Ardelia doubted for a moment, then agreed. They entered the store but though they browsed the lingerie department a long time, neither of them bought anything. Ardelia just couldn't find anything that pleased her in spite of the large collection, Clarice wasn't satisfied with the feeling of buying some lingerie after all. They exited the shop and continued their walk.

A few steps down the street, Clarice noticed a Macy's and suddenly knew what she was going to buy next. She practically dragged Ardelia inside without bothering to explain.

.

_I bought something today to go with the pendant._

_Good. I can't wait to find out what._

_Can't wait either. Wish you weren't so far away._

_I wish I could be closer to you also._

.

In the last days before Thanksgiving Clarice had a horrible time. She longed for Hannibal, wanted to see him, knew she couldn't. Her whole being craved his nearness, her body longed for his touch.

So, while Ardelia was planning, doing groceries and being a happy host, Clarice was growing sulkier by the day. She did her best not to show Ardelia, of course, and succeeded pretty well. Ardelia, normally highly sensitive to changes and abnormalities but blinded by her friendship, unconsciously rejected the signals that remained and was unaware of her friend's altered state of mind.

The effort did cost Clarice, though, and the energy drain added another note to her gloom. The nights didn't relieve her spirit of its demons; they were restless and haunted in spite of the medication.

_I need you, Hannibal. I need you terribly. When I get back..._

The morning of the day before Thanksgiving was spent buying the last items Ardelia needed for the next day. Clarice accompanied her in her search for the ingredients. Seeing how many people were at the various stores, it seemed everybody was doing their groceries at the same time. Ardelia didn't seem to mind and simply worked her way through the throngs of people in the aisles using her groceries cart to push people aside if needed.

Ardelia told her to get some black pepper. Clarice went over to the spices aisle and found a decently priced pepper shaker. She brought the item back, only to be confronted with an irritated Ardelia.

"You never gonna learn, Cee? Never buy ground pepper. Get me them black peppers whole, okay? There's a huge difference in taste. Not to mention price."

Clarice returned the shaker to its place and then spent over two minutes at the spices to find the right thing - they'd hidden it somewhere on the lowest shelf. Apparently people weren't persuaded to buy black peppers whole. She checked the prices and had to agree with Ardelia, this was much cheaper by the ounce. Happy with herself, she returned to Ardelia and handed her the peppers triumphantly.

"Good. Now get me some brown sugar."

Clarice turned around and went to the right aisle, but got hit by someone else's cart along the way.

"Hey, watch it, asshole!" she yelled and looked furiously at the man behind the cart. Her words and demeanor obviously zapped the man. He looked like someone who wouldn't normally accept a scolding without a peppered retort at least, but right now he stood with his mouth agape. Clarice continued her search, only to find there was no more brown sugar in store.

"Well, fuck," was all she said, to her own surprise.

.

Count Hannibal Lecter VIII, sixty-one years old, stood still in his hotel room as he watched a blind wall. He had been watching it for over an hour now. He had been watching it ever since he returned to his room this morning after seeing reality. It had hit him while he was having a walk, he suddenly saw all these people - husbands, wives, children - moving about, sharing their time, experiences and lives and he realized he was not like that, and wanted badly to be like that. He wanted to be a husband, a father, alive, loving, loved, and not alone. He wanted Clarice to be part of his life, now and forever. He came halfway around the world to watch Clarice knowing her absence was only temporary. There had been no need to follow Clarice, yet he did and now he stood here, watching a blind wall, wishing he was with Clarice.

.

"Henry, you're home!"

"Hey, honey! Yes, I am, and know what? The project's finished! We worked our asses off…"

"You mean, _you_ worked your ass off, fixing your colleague's errors and working overtime to compensate the lack of progress last month. I'm glad you're such a good drafter, but your work ethics are too damn high!"

"Perhaps I'm too kind, honey. But you know this was an exception."

"Yeah, I know. I just don't wouldn't like this to happen again, it's killing you!"

"Yeah, it's been hard. But hey - I got some great news! The boss was so relieved when I told him we'd managed to finish right on schedule after all, that he promised me a good bonus, and the next two weeks off!"

"The next two weeks? Hey, that's wonderful!" Ardelia grabbed Henry's hands and squeezed them.

"Yeah. I'm so glad this is over now!"

"Well, you deserved it. And you know it! Been missin' you round here... You know, being..." Ardelia stopped mid-sentence to look around. Clarice was out of sight and the door was closed. "... being pregnant, it screws up your hormones. I've been _really_ missing you..."

Henry smile couldn't have been wider. "You're doin' fine, Dee. And I'll have that talk with my boss, tell him I won't be pullin' such stunts anymore now."

Ardelia hugged her man and simply sighed.

Meanwhile, Clarice sat in her room on the bed and tossed her cell phone from one hand to the other, back and forth, over and over. She stared outside the window. When she thought she heard a noise on the other side of the door she looked at it but when she heard nothing more she returned to her game.

A few times more the device was switched from hand before she looked at the screen again. A black screen. She touched a button and it turned on, only to go black again after three seconds.

She touched a button again, then unlocked the phone and started a text.

_If only I could see you tonight._

She exhaled after sending, having held her breath while typing.

She received a reply.

_Why? How bad?_

"You're not making this any easier for me, are you?" Clarice asked herself.

_See you and feel you and who knows what else. Very bad._

Her hands shook from the tension.

This time, the answer took longer.

_There might be a way._

She frowned.

_How do you mean?_

Almost immediate reply followed.

_I'm not in Europe._

She looked at the phone in disbelief, her hands even shaking more than before.

"He's here," she said to herself. "Oh my God, he's here..."

She rose from the bed and paced around the room frantically.

"He's here..."

An idea suddenly struck and she sat down again.

_Get your ass over here tonight. 10PM, kitchen entrance, enter after light goes out._

Point of no return.

_Mr. and Mrs. Rollins?_

_Don't worry, taken care off._

This time, the answer took some time again.

_All right, I'll be there._

Clarice rose and walked over to the washstand. She picked up a small bag from the cabinet, found a certain box inside and pulled a number of pills from it. She circled the sleeping pills in her hand.

"If they make me sleep, they'll make you sleep..."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter****23**

"Hi, Dee! Need some help?"

"Would you? That would be great. I got 'most everything ready for tomorrow's dinner..."

"But not for today's?"

Ardelia sighed. "No, it's worse than I expected. Henry really wanted the works this year, you know."

"Because of me?"

"Uh huh, but also because he finished the project, and the bonus."

"He's such a sweet guy. Perhaps a bit too sweet sometimes?" joked Clarice.

"Yeah, he's one sweet fella... who needs a shot of common sense every now and then."

The two women laughed.

"So, what do you want me to do? What's already prepared? Shall I fix a dessert?"

"Ummm... I have some beef ready to use over there, see what you can do with it. If you can manage a dessert too, you're an angel."

"I think I'll manage," Clarice said and smiled. Dessert would be the best opportunity to administer them the ground sleeping pills.

Ardelia watched Clarice inspect the beef and the contents of various cabinets. As Clarice had assured her before, she truly had improved her cooking since they no longer shared the duplex. She watched her pick ingredients, and nodded unconsciously in approval. Nothing like a spicy beef dish after a hard day's work.

"So, who's the lucky guy who gets all the texts? Johann?" she asked suddenly.

Clarice's head popped up, a look of utter shock on her face. "What do you mean?"

Ardelia wasn't surprised by Clarice 's reaction. "I'm not blind, Clarice. I'm not mad neither. But I noticed you're texting a lot these days. So, who's the lucky guy?"

Clarice didn't know immediately how to respond.

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."

"I... I know that, Dee. But it's not... let's just say it's complicated..."

"What? He's married or something?"

"Dee!"

"What? What else would make it complicated? You're single, good lookin', if there's someone who makes it complicated, it must be him."

Clarice laughed and shook her head.

"What? Not him? You then? You're making things complicated?"

"No, no... I.. You know what - can we forget it for now please?"

Clarice looked pleadingly at Ardelia who thought for a while.

"All right. For now. But you have to tell me one of these days, okay?"

"I will."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Good. Now start working, I'm getting hungry!"

"Sure thing."

The rest of their shared time in the kitchen was spent in pleasant silence, both women happily busy with their successive jobs.

Ardelia concentrated fully on the recipes for tomorrow. Henry had asked for the works and Ardelia really wanted to make this Thanksgiving special for him. She decided yesterday to go for the family recipe for the turkey his mother had shared with her a few months before she passed away. It was odd to try something new for Thanksgiving. She would've preferred to make something she'd done a million times before, but the occasion was just too good to pass by. To honor her late mother-in-law, to celebrate Henry's achievement and to celebrate her pregnancy.

Clarice created a well peppered beef dish, with black-eyed peas. And she found a fresh sweet bread Ardelia made yesterday to go with it. It wasn't much work, really, but she could understand Ardelia wouldn't mind her taking over preparations for today's meal. She planned on making dessert right after dinner, some ice and fresh fruit. With Ardelia and Henry still at the table it would allow her the privacy needed to add the soporific.

.

"... so Erik rises to greet the new manager, but he trips over his own loose shoelaces and butts the man in the stomach with his head!"

Ardelia and Clarice burst out laughing, joining Henry's merriment. They'd both met Erik a few days ago and knew what a klutz he was - he had knocked over a vase that day. They could easily picture him doing such a thing.

Their laughter slowly diminished until they just sat there, tears of laughter still in their eyes.

"So what did the new manager say?" asked Ardelia eventually, wiping her eyes.

"It took him some time to recover and breath normally again. And we just stood there, half laughing, half feeling substitute shame. And then he said he'd never had someone make such a first impression on him before ..."

The two women burst out with laughter once more, unable to control their mirth. Henry joined them heartily.

When the hilarity had subdued again they sat a while in silence, only sometimes broken by a small hiccup of glee or a grin.

Ardelia looked at Henry, who nodded subtly in reply and smiled and Ardelia drew in some breath, the interaction not lost on Clarice.

"Cee, I... learned something the other day."

Clarice looked at the woman she'd shared a duplex with and wondered.

"Something nice," Ardelia added.

"Oh? What is it?"

"Erm... I'm expecting a baby."

The unexpected words silenced Clarice momentarily. She laughed, looked at her friend, then spoke hesitantly. "Really? You're pregnant?"

"Yes, I am!"she cired, "I'm knocked up! We're having a baby!"

"That's... awesome! Congratulations!" Clarice exclaimed and immediately rose to hug Ardelia. While they hugged Clarice was seriously troubled. Was it okay to give a pregnant woman sleeping pills? She'd have to read the medication leaflet, even if it was too late now... She released Ardelia and gave Henry a hug also.

"I'm so glad for you guys!" she added. "How long?"

"About seven weeks - you're the first to tell."

"Only seven weeks? Wow, that's early."

"Yeah, it is. But we wanted to share this with you. Will you keep it a secret?"

"Of course! Aww... a baby, that's so cool!"

Clarice looked at Henry who was positively beaming with pride.

"Hey, big guy, you knocked up my Dee!"

All Henry could do was grin even further, and blush slightly.

Ardelia yawned suddenly.

"Hey Dee, you tired already?" asked Henry.

"Yeah, guess so. It's been a hard day, groceries and cooking and stuff, you know."

"Well, to be honest, I'm a bit tired myself," he admitted and started yawning along.

"Hey, cut that out, you two!" said Clarice.

"What? Can't help it, I'm a bit tired."

"But it's barely nine!"

"I know. Maybe it'll pass."

Dinner finished, the three of them moved to the living room. They settled themselves on the couch and chairs and continued their conversation. Not surprisingly, it didn't take long for Ardelia and Henry to start yawning again.

"That's it," said Ardelia. "I'm going to hit the sack."

"Yeah, me too," said Henry.

"You ain't tired, Cee?"

"Maybe a bit. I'll watch some TV for now, turn in later."

"Sure. See ya tomorrow."

"Good night!"

.

Knowing Ardelia and Henry were sound asleep and would remain so until around daybreak, Clarice prepared herself fully for Hannibal's arrival in her basement room. When the clock upstairs struck ten she ascended to the ground floor. Proceeding towards the kitchen she moved agile and determined. With only her arm through the door she shut off the light, and waited.

As expected, she didn't have to wait long. The kitchen door opened silently and a shape entered the warmth of the house. Clarice could feel the cold rush of wind on her skin. Goose bumps appeared all over her body.

"Clarice."

"Hannibal."

Her visitor approached and extended his arms to hold her when he saw her nakedness, and faltered. She could discern the surprise on his face, and smiled.

"I suddenly knew what to wear with the pendant."

"Chanel No. 5?"

Clarice chortled.

"Just like Marilyn Monroe. Well, sort of."

"Suits you."

"You're quite the charmer, aren't you?"

"And you're quite charming. Enchanting. You bewitched me."

"Silly chap," she said. "Come."

Hannibal bridged the distance between them instantly and held her by her arms. Clarice opened her mouth and he expected her to speak. Instead, she just stood there and looked at him. His senses suddenly picked up on something; he could smell her. He could smell her most intimate fragrance.

She leaned forward and kissed him. Her lips moved over his, her need apparent.

Hannibal's lips mirrored her passion as they stood and embraced and kissed.

A few moments later Clarice let go and took a step back, holding his left hand with her right. She gently tugged at his arm. He stepped forward, she took another step. Hannibal followed her as she walked back to her room, guided by the woman he loved.

They descended the stairs. Clarice's eyes left his for the door, and he closed it behind him. She smiled. Then she took a step forward and started to unbutton his coat. She dropped it to the floor when she was finished. When she took hold of his sweater's hemline, Hannibal raised his arms and she pulled the sweater up over his head. He eased down his arms, and worked himself free. Clarice was already unbuttoning his shirt. They kissed while she unbuttoned until they noticed it only slowed them down. She pulled his shirt roughly from his trousers to open the last buttons and after that continued with his pants. He held her from completely freeing him, and quickly took of his shoes and socks. With a smile, he let her proceed again. His pants soon dropped to the floor, only to be followed by his boxer briefs. He stepped out of his last garments, and followed Clarice to her bed.

.

"I'm going to get something to drink, you want something?"

"Yes, please. Tea?"

"Sure."

Clarice left her bed and lover and donned her bathrobe before going upstairs.

Hannibal relaxed in bed, comfortably settled in, enjoying the memory and scents of lovemaking. A look at the clock told him it was about a quarter to twelve. He mused how much longer they'd be able to go on...

When Clarice returned with two mugs, he raised a side of the duvet and Clarice got back in after placing the mugs on the nightstand. Her feet were cold and he warmed them with his. Vapors rose from his tea and her coffee and added a touch of homeliness to the moment.

"I… drugged Ardelia and Henry so you could come," spoke Clarice after a while.

Hannibal sensed she wanted to say more, and he waited.

"I gave them the same dosage I use."

He nodded and waited again for her to speak her mind, to vent what troubled her.

"Dee's pregnant. Will it harm her child?"

"What's your prescription?"

"Zopiclone."

"It is discouraged to use while pregnant, not outright forbidden. I'm sure one normal dose won't harm her child."

Clarice hugged him.

"Thank goodness" she said. "Now, kiss me, you fool. No, not there…"

Hannibal smiled and slowly worked his way down her body; the tea could wait for this. He carefully cupped her delightful orbs and kissed her aureoles on various places. She giggled as he did. Moving down further he touched her stomach with his lips, caressed it with them, touched her skin with his tongue and tasted her. His one hand went over her right hip as he caressed her curves. His hand sought her inner thigh and from there slowly moved on to the warm spot where her legs joined. His head moved down further, his lips touched small, curly hairs. His fingers massaged her and he could feel her response to his administrations. She moaned and arched her back slightly.

The sudden shriek of a fire alarm jolted them upright.

"That's upstairs!" yelled Clarice, and jumped out of bed. She raced for the door and opened it and they smelled the smoke at the same time. Clarice hurried to put on some clothing, as did Hannibal. When they'd donned the bare necessities, they held a piece of clothing under the tap. The smoke was very discernible now. With the wet pieces of cloth to their mouths they raced upstairs to the ground floor.

Clarice led the way. Hannibal followed, knowing she was going to Ardelia and Henry's bedroom to check if they were alright. Clarice raced up the stairs to the second floor, coughing from the smoke. She turned left at the landing, and threw open the door in front of her. Smoke emerged from the room and she took one step back before bursting inside. Hannibal, right behind her, heard her call out but no response followed. He swiftly followed her into the room.

Clarice tugged at Ardelia's arms, trying to wake or lift her. Hannibal raced over to the other side of the bed and pulled Henry upright. He threw one of Henry's arms over his neck and lifted the body. He carefully carried him out of the room, following Clarice who was doing the same for Ardelia.

Going down the stairs proved tricky with all the smoke and the weight of the motionless bodies they carried and dragged along, but they managed eventually. Clarice led them away from the kitchen where the smoke was thickest. Just before opening the front door she, turned to Hannibal.

"Put him down. Get out through the back," she said and coughed when she inhaled.

Hannibal looked around. The smoke was thick but he estimated he could make it. He faced her again.

"Go! I'll carry them outside!"

He nodded, put Henry on the floor and took his leave.

Clarice opened the door, dragged Ardelia outside, raced back inside and collapsed on the grass after managing to get Henry outside as well.


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter****24**

Clarice sat in a chair in her own living room and cried, but the tears weren't the first tears since she collapsed on the grass in front of Ardelia's home. She had cried there and then, hot tears she didn't even notice as she took Ardelia in her arms and cried over her.

She was still crying when the fire trucks arrived and the firefighters leapt out.

She cried even worse when Ardelia and Henry were loaded hurriedly into an ambulance and taken to the hospital, its lights screaming in the dark, its siren a cry of desolation.

Someone helped her up and took her to another ambulance where they checked her. She refused the oxygen mask and in the end they managed to sedate her and when she woke up she found herself in a bed at the hospital, and cried again.

When finally a nurse came to see her, she asked him about Ardelia and Henry, but he couldn't help her. He asked if she could please remain in bed while he fetched a doctor. She acquiesced, to her own surprise.

The doctor first took her vitals, then informed her she looked fine. She'd not breathed in too much smoke, and would be discharged soon. Then he paused a moment before saying he was sorry to say the other two people in the fire hadn't made it because of the smoke.

Clarice was shocked and cried out in terrible anguish, tears welled from her eyes again, a steady flow of sorrow flowed from her every pore.

The doctor eventually gave her a mild sedative and she slept through a good part of Thanksgiving Day before her actual discharge.

They'd taken her home. Her neighbor Mr. Powell opened the door for her. She'd lost her own keys in the fire and she'd given him the key to look after her home while she was abroad.

For the first few hours after that she just sat on the couch in the living room, and cried every now and then.

.

Her landline telephone rang. Clarice turned her head and watched its display light up in the dark, but she didn't move to pick it up. It kept ringing and ringing until it finally stopped, only to start again some moments later. She let it ring again, but managed to move eventually. Hesitantly, she reached for the receiver and picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Clarice?"

She recognized Valentine's voice.

"You there, Clarice?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Good. We're glad to hear you're fine."

_But __Dee __and __Henry __aren't._

Clarice almost cried again at the thought, but she kept her tears in check because of Valentine.

"We know how close you and Mrs. Rollins were. You have our sympathies."

"Thank you, sir."

"They inhaled too much smoke, I heard. Their room was directly above the kitchen and the experts believe that's where the fire started."

_The __kitchen?_

Realization dawned on Clarice now. She had made tea and coffee only minutes before the fire.

_Could __it __be __I __started __the __fire?_

"You there, Clarice?"

"Erm.. yes, I am. The kitchen?"

_God, __don't __let __it __be!_

"That's what they think. It's not known what exactly caused the fire, but we'll know soon."

The possibility her nightly trip to the kitchen caused the fire ate her heart, and she didn't know what to do.

"Anyway, the funeral will be Friday next week. I thought you'd like to know."

_Funeral? __Oh __my __God, __that's __right._

Clarice cried soundlessly now.

"We've agreed you can stay home until New Year, with pay. No lectures, no pressure. That okay with you?"

_I __don't __want __to __be __alone!_

"Yes, sir."

"Good, Starling. We'll talk about returning to duties later. Bye."

"Bye."

She stared at the phone, uncertain he'd heard her last reply, uncertain of everything. But pissed off immensely. Angry. Fuming with rage and disappointment and guilt. Everything she'd kept to herself, everything she'd done or not done because of this or that, everything she'd played by _their_ rules now engulfed her mind and choked her.

"FUCK!" she screamed and slammed the phone down almost hard enough to break it.

"FUCK YOU!"

"FUCK EVERYBODY!"

"FUCK ME!"

She raged and cursed but events had taken their toll and her fit only lasted a few minutes before she became too tired and laid down on the couch and fell asleep.

.

Her cell phone beeped when a text came in later that evening. The sound woke Clarice and she picked up the device. Hannibal texted her, asking if she wanted him to come see her. She sighed , then replied he could. A few minutes later, her doorbell rang and she rose from the couch.

She opened the door and let Hannibal in, not as surprised as she should have been by his audacity to simply approach her house, apparently undisturbed by the possibility of being spotted. He was, after all, still a serial killer on the run.

He entered her home and when she'd closed the door and turned, he stood in front of her and watched her intensely. She held his gaze, burning as it could be, her own perhaps just as intense and fiery. He then lifted his arms and pulled her close, holding her in his arms, offering her all the support he could ever give. She returned the gesture, and pulled him close to her and held him for support and comfort and warmth. She'd cried many tears before but after a reluctant sob a new flow of guilt and remorse followed that lasted a while.

Hannibal held her and tried to soothe her, knowing the pain of losing beloved ones, having lost his own family at an early age. Ardelia had been more like a mother to Clarice than a friend, he'd noticed some time ago.

When he finally noticed a slight relaxation in her grip he turned a bit and gently guided her on. He knew she needed to sit or perhaps even lie down. Once in the living room he helped her to the couch, and when she let go of his shirt he closed the blinds and turned on a few lights. He said he was going to make some tea and went over to the kitchen.

_Some __tea__… __Kitchen__… __Noooo!_

_No._

_I __won't __tell __him. __I__… __can't._

When he returned from the kitchen he joined her again on the couch and placed two steaming mugs on the coffee table. He sat beside her as she noiselessly rocked back and forth, no longer crying but biting her nails. He waited for her to act. He had supported her and now he needed her to take a first step. Even the tiniest of steps would do right now.

Clarice could feel it deep inside. She sensed Hannibal was waiting for her and knew it all depended on that move. She needed to do something to show him she was alright or at least improving if she wanted to prevent him from prodding any further…

_Tea. __Let's __have __some __tea._

Slowly Clarice removed her hand from her face and reached for a mug.

_Good, __Clarice. __A __first __step. __Keep __moving __and __you'll __be __fine._

She blew some air in the mug and rippled the liquid's surface. It was too hot to drink but she tried to take a sip nevertheless.

_Mustn't __appear __too __aware._

The tea burned her lips and she cringed.

"Too damn hot," she said and lowered her hand with the mug. She looked at Hannibal.

"It is."

He took the mug from her and returned it to the coffee table.

"I'm glad you're here," Clarice said and took his hands in hers.

Hannibal smiled and nodded in reply. He allowed a moment of silence before he spoke.

"I'll be here whenever you want me to."

Clarice rewarded his words with a subtle smile.

_I'll __join __him._

_After __the __funeral._

"I'd like you to be always near, and sometimes _very_ near," she said in an attempt to divert his attention.

"I will be."

_I'll __be __watching __over __you, __Clarice, __I __assure __you._

She smiled.

* * *

**Hello, my dearest readers, especially those who follow, favorite and review! I'm sure you found this chapter to be a bit on the short side. Well, so be it. Sometimes one writes and finds what one wrote to suffice. But rest assured, the remaining two chapters will have more 'body'! Yes, only two more chapters to go and then the story will be complete. Alas, due to my summer holiday, the next chapter will be posted in three weeks time. But I'm confident you'll be able to cope with that. **

**Till then, MB**


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